


Teach Me How to Win (or Live)

by TheKillingImperfection



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: A little Cruz/Danny and Gale/Mack, Drama, F/M, Family & Friendship, Gen, Rated T for some coarse language every once in a while, and maybe some alcohol, jackson storm's redemption arc, maybe some Jackson/Cruz ship-teasing later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 69,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKillingImperfection/pseuds/TheKillingImperfection
Summary: It's no doubt that Cruz Ramirez and Jackson Storm are highly exceptional racers. But even formidable front-runners such as themselves have their weaknesses. When faced with difficult challenges and circumstances, are they able to pull through to the finish? If they can't help themselves, can they help each other? Co-featuring Lightning McQueen. (Originally posted on FF.net)





	1. Like a Cloud (or a Rock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I originally posted this fic on FF.net, but also wanted to post it here for anyone who can't access it on that site. All the notes are from my original posting on the other site. Anything I add is in brackets.]
> 
> Just a quick aside on how I joined the Cars fandom: it was fairly recent. Or not. I watched the first film when I was young—like everyone else. I really liked it, but I was pretty much in denial about it. Hell, I even shipped Lightning and Sally before I even knew what shipping was. So fast forward to 2016, when the "Lightning's big wreck" teaser trailer was released. At this point, I was on the bandwagon of hating Cars like everyone else. But everything changed, when, while watching the teaser, I spotted a certain, edgy-looking, dark, next-gen racer's rear… And then I watched more of him. And then I wanted to see more. I kid you not, I dragged my whole family to the theaters to watch Cars 3 just so I could witness more of Jackass Storm's smug-ass sass. But it was worth it. It took a while, but I've finally accepted my place in Cars hell where I belong.
> 
> Anyway, that was not a very short aside at all. About the fic, yes, I don't know an awful lot about NASCAR, racing, or cars in general (alarm bells, ah, I know). So if there are any inaccuracies or inconsistencies at all, please let me now. It'd be much appreciated. And now, without further ado: the fic. Rated T for some language and wrecks, of course. And other mild stuff. Nothing too rough. Maybe a few f-bombs here and there. This first chapter takes place immediately after Cruz's big win at Florida International. You know, the part in the movie.

Floating. Hovering. Soaring through the air. Fearless. Cruz had never done a flip while driving before, much less at over 200 miles per hour. Much less over a car  _also_ pushing 200 miles. But, by God, she was going to nail the landing. And she did. A blur of black and white flashed by in her peripheral vision. She wasn't even thinking anymore. All she could afford to do was go,  _go._ After she was right side up again, it took her a moment to get her bearings. Nobody was in front of her. Did she win?

That mental question was soon enough answered for her.

"I don't believe it! It's  _Cruz Ramirez_  for the win!"

"I am  _speechless_!"

Cruz thought for a second. It sounded like Bob Cutlass said  _her_  name, but it couldn't have been her's… could it?

But then she heard McQueen's celebratory hooting through the headset, and she knew that she wasn't mistaken. She peered up at the thousands of twinkling lights and reflective car surfaces in the stands, and realized that they were all looking at  _her,_ that they were all cheering for  _her._ They were all chanting  _her_ name—of that, she was certain. And it never sounded so good.

Her eyes became lost in the sea of roaring fans; they were riptides that pulled her in and drifted her away into some dreamy state. She wasn't looking where she was going, and she didn't even care. So what if she hit a wall again? This was worth crashing for.

The sound of nearby rumbling engines shook her from her trance. Some of the other racers were riding up next her, congratulating her on her win. Some of them even gave her a friendly tire bump. Cruz knew they were congratulating her, but the words didn't seem to fully process in her mind. She kept thanking them, regardless. One of them played a silly little prank on her, and she laughed. Her eyes rolled over and caught sight of something familiarly red.

It was McQueen. For a brief second, she wondered how he would react. Would he be happy for her? Would he be glad that she won, but have a part of himself that sort of wished  _he_ had been the one to do it? She could only glimpse him for a couple of seconds, at the speed she was going. But when he gave her that gentle smile and inclined his hood the slightest bit in approval, she knew that while he could be feeling all of that, he was proud nevertheless.

"Ramirez!" The shout of a loud, boisterous fan snapped her attention back to the crowds. Her name quickly condensed into an eager chant: "Cruz! Cruz! Cruz! Cruz!"

"Go ahead," McQueen called to her, amused. "Give em' some smoke."

Cruz's eyes lit up in excitement. Celebratory donuts? It was like a dream come true. She swung herself around in circles, revving her engine enthusiastically. She cackled with joy, the smoke from the burnout stinging her eyes, but she didn't mind. She was enveloped in white, off in a world away from the others, away from the crowd. Up, up, someplace very high. Like a fluffy cloud.

* * *

Drifting, farther, and farther away. He was sinking. Like a rock. Storm was soon at the rear of the pack. The other racers were miles away from him now. They all petered out to pit row, where they were greeted by a few interviewers here and there. But that was nothing. Storm ground to a halt. A flurry of reporters and journalists rushed past him to join the  _ocean_ of cars questioning the out-of-nowhere star. But that 'out-of-nowhere' star wasn't him anymore. It was  _her._

A smiley correspondent suddenly materialized beside him. "Hey Storm, what are your thoughts on this new sensation, Cruz Ramirez?" His microphone leaned in a little too close for Storm's comfort.

Another car popped up from his other side. "Storm! Can you describe what happened out there? For a moment, it looked like you had it!"

Then there was another. It was like they were multiplying. "Do you feel that this new, rookie racer could pose a significant challenge for you?"

Storm's initial instinct was to shove the reporters aside and yell at them to leave him alone. But then he remembered who he was. He was Jackson Storm. Whether he liked it or not, he had to give the public a certain image of himself—that he was cool, calm, collected, and confident. Storm certainly wasn't the type to lose his temper in moments of frustration and desperation. He definitely  _never_ threw tantrums upon losing races. And, of course, he was  _always_  100% confident in his abilities and  _never_  needed to resort to dirty methods of winning. No, he couldn't afford to have people see him at his worst, just like how he was mere moments ago on the track.

So Storm bit his tongue, drew in a deep breath, and replied with an unimpressed roll of his eyes, "It's only the first race of the season. She just got  _lucky._ " Though he tried, Storm couldn't completely shed the bitterness from his tone. He assumed a more hardened look. "Trust me—it  _won't_ happen again." But Storm wasn't even sure he believed his own words.

The reporters had a great desire for him to elaborate on his response, but Storm didn't care. He had had enough with them. He began to roll away toward the lot where his and the rest of the racers' trailers were being kept, attempting to keep the relentless parasites at bay.

" _Just keep driving,"_ he reassured himself. " _I just need to get to Gale, and then I can crank up the music and forget that any of this ever happened."_

Unfortunately, one car wasn't about to let this happen.  _Somebody_  thought it would have been entertaining to poke a little fun at him.  _Somebody_  could tell Storm was having a bad day.  _Somebody_  wanted to touch a nerve. Their voice called out from somewhere among the others: "Maybe it's high time for Jackass Storm to retire."

It was as if a flip had switched. Storm's own taunts were coming back to haunt him. He reversed and swung around on a dime. His eyes scrutinized the crowd for a dash of red, despite the fact that he knew the voice did not belong to his old rival. He felt his features contort into an expression of rage and before he could stop himself, his mouth opened: "WHAT—?"

But before Storm could call out the spiteful jokester, a familiar-sounding engine revved up beside him.

"Storm." It was his crew chief, Ray Reverham. His voice had an admonishing tone. He leaned in close, so that the reporters couldn't hear him. "We talked about this,  _remember_?"

Storm released a deep breath and shut his eyes. "Right…" He opened his eyes once more, his lids halfway closed. His face relaxed into that of his usual, nonchalant façade. "I'm cool… I'm cool," he reassured Reverham, though he seemed that he was more trying to convince himself of this notion.

"Good," Ray stated curtly. He glanced over at the pestering reporters and frowned. "Now, let's get you out of here before you  _do_  or  _say_  something you'll regret." He moved between Storm and the others, acting as a cover for him to sneak away. He stayed behind for a bit to drive off the stragglers, and then followed after Storm. The two made their way to the parking lot, side-by-side, in silence for a few moments, until Storm's calm composure broke into one of utter defeat and disappointment.

"I can't believe I lost!" he groaned, scowling down at the ground as if it had insulted him.

Ray was unsympathetic. "I  _tried_ warning you."He shook his hood with disapproval. "Chrysler, Storm. I knew this overconfident bravado of yours would catch up with you eventually."

Storm sputtered, his eyes widening in exasperation. "How was I supposed to know that she would pull a move like that?" He huffed and glanced off to the side. "Forget it. I'm exhausted. I just want to get out of here. I can't  _stand_ seeing  _Costume Girl_ get all this praise."

* * *

"Cruz, how does it feel to beat Jackson Storm?"

"Cruz! Have any advice for aspiring racers? Particularly for the young, female fans out there?"

"Ramirez! Where did you learn to pull a move like that?"

The questions kept coming faster than Cruz could answer them. She had to admit, it was a little overwhelming—what with all the flashing bulbs, pushing frames, and overlapping voices. But at the same time, it was exhilarating. Cruz had been so used to all her students and other racers getting this kind of attention, so it was nice to have people talking about  _her_  for a change.

"Uhh, I just want to those kids out there to know, no matter what  _anyone_ tells you, you can be  _whatever_  you want to be, as long as you set your mind to it," Cruz said, responding to one of the journalist's inquiries. She smiled, satisfied with her answer, and then peered out from over the hoods of the cars surrounding her. She caught a glimpse of her new mentor and his girlfriend watching her from afar.

As they met eyes, Cruz made a grimace and gestured disparagingly toward the fanatics engulfing her. McQueen and Sally chuckled at Cruz's reaction to her newfound fame. It was certainly something she would have to get used to, among all the other things that came with this career.

She squeezed past some of the cars so that she could join her new crew chief.

"Hoo!" she huffed as she managed to get near. "They sure are  _persistent_!"

Lightning laughed. "Well get used to it, 'cause pretty soon, you won't be able to go  _anywhere_ without someone recognizing you and hailing you for an autograph!"

Cruz's eyes widened. "Wow."

Lightning, catching her vague concern, tried to comfort her. "Don't worry," he told her. "It's actually pretty great 99% of the time."

Cruz arched a lid. "What about that other 1%?"

"Youuu don't wanna know."

"Oh."

Lightning chuckled again. He waved a tire in his direction. "Come on, you're not done yet. We've gotta get you to Victory Lane."

Cruz perked up. "Oh! Right!"

She and McQueen began to cruise on over to the podium, when suddenly Cruz slowed her pace. She frowned, and felt as if she was forgetting something. Something about the other racers. The racers that she beat… the racers that told her that she  _couldn't_ … Cruz halted to a stop. Lightning noticed this and turned back.

"Cruz?" he called. "What are you waiting for? C'mon!"

"Wait!" She scanned the great expanse that was the Florida International Speedway. It was hard enough to pick anyone out, due to the size of the location alone. But it also didn't help that it was currently filled with hundreds of bustling cars. She diverted her visual search toward the area where the haulers were situated and managed to spot a familiar-looking dark, sleek bumper disappearing into the lot. Cruz turned back to Lightning.

"Hold on a moment! I'll be right there. I just need to do something real quick!" And with that she zoomed off toward the garages. McQueen stared after her with a look of confusion on his front.

* * *

"Okay, I'll see you back at the IGNTR racing center in a couple of days, alright?" Ray told his racer as they arrived at the back of his trailer.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Storm replied, impatient to get inside.

"See you then." His crew chief drove off.

And with that, Storm was finally alone. With the exception of Gale, of course, but she knew when to keep her distance. Storm sighed a tired breath and was about to drive forward to activate the censors on his trailer when the car he  _least_  wanted to see, especially on that night, appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Storm!" she called. "Hold on a second!"

Storm fought every urge in his body to burst into an angry tirade of insults. Instead, he turned calmly around and faced the very racecar that just defeated him.

"What do you want?" he stated grimly, his voice having that low, irritated edge that told people he wanted to be left alone— _or else_.

"Hey," Cruz greeted as she approached, slightly out of breath from the high speed she had been going. "Can I.. talk to you for a second?"

Storm snorted; he couldn't help himself. "What? Are you here to gloat about your fluke win?"

"No…" Cruz remained unfazed, but her eyes narrowed the slightest in offense. She reassumed a more amiable expression. "Look, I know you and I haven't been on the best of terms…"

Storm scoffed. "That's the understatement of the year."

"...but I just wanted to say that I hope that we can leave this all behind us and start anew." She glanced up at him and gave him a firm smile, but Storm could tell that she was feeling hesitant about this new "arrangement."

Cruz could sense the obvious distrust and irritation in Storm's demeanor, and decided to combat it. "I'm not saying that we have to be best friends or anything," she quickly clarified. "I just wouldn't feel good about us parting on such bad terms." She chuckled awkwardly. "I mean, you  _did_ mock me and slam me into a wall and all that, but let bygones be bygones, am I right?"

Storm's eyes only narrowed in response. Cruz decided that it was best to quickly wrap this up. She stuck out her right tire and maintained a steady, hopeful gaze. "Sooo, no hard feelings?"

Storm squinted at the tire with an unreadable expression on his front. An open tire: a sign of peace. Of non-hostility. Of… friendship. Storm's cold, grey eyes trailed back up to Cruz's warm, brown ones. Her's were big with anticipation.

"You can't be serious," he stated flatly.

Cruz's smile fell, as did her tire. "What?"

Storm's eyes flashed with anger. His voice suddenly increased in volume. "You really think a little 'tire-shake' and all will win me over? That we'll be friends, just like that?"

Cruz frowned. "No, I didn't say that—"

Storm revved up close to Cruz and she backed away, startled. But he was only moving to reverse into his opening trailer.

"You know what would make things a whole lot better for me?" he asked her, just as the ramp settled onto the ground. Instead of waiting for an reply, he reversed up onto the ramp and waited until he was in the comfort of his trailer to answer his own question. "If you'd go back to Rust-eze Racing Center and stay there—where you belong!" The final note of his response echoed in the metal chamber. And with that, Jackson cranked up his electronic music and closed the door of his trailer, leaving him with nothing but the tunes, darkness, Gale's reprimanding voice, and his own thoughts to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole fic mainly alternates between Storm's and Cruz's perspective… Probably because it's about them… Still on the fence about whether they're going to be "a thing" in this fic... We'll see... Lightning might be a tertiary character though, so you'll see quite a bit of him too. Next-gen racers will also be in it. Particularly Danny Swervez… I have a general idea of where the story is going, but I'm not too sure how to end it. I'm sure I'll figure it out along the way…
> 
> Also, I'm going to be basing Storm's and Cruz's characters off of their origin books: "Storm Chasing" and "Cruz Control", respectively. I know they aren't canon, but in my mind, they are. Also, "Cruz Control" isn't out yet—only the preview. So, I might have to retcon things later once it actually comes out in its entirety.
> 
> Also, also… do cars shake hands—er, tires? I mean, they do pretty much everything else we do. So why not? But… it's kind of awkward, isn't it?
> 
> Also, I don't know whether I should have cars say "Chrysler" and "Ford" instead of "Christ" and "God"... Hmm, I'll probably use them interchangeably when I see fit.
> 
> 'Kay, I'm done.


	2. Making the Curve

_A Few Days Later…_

Quiet. During the early traces of dawn, that was what Radiator Springs could be described as: quiet. Sure, the little podunk town  _used_  to be almost completely desolate, but with the arrival of a certain legendary red race car, it had transformed into a popular stop along Route 66. Nevertheless, it still had its moments of peace.

The bright, neon lights of the various facilities shone like beacons, indicative of spirited life within the town. Flo's V8 Café stood proudly at the heart with its bright blue lights, evidence of its being a common hangout spot for many a car. There was the single hanging stoplight at the center of the crossroads, its existence a reminder of the location's simplicity and rustic charm. As one made their way down the warmly lit road, they would notice the surprisingly neat state of the pavement. While it was slightly run down from the treads of bustling cars and years of use, it was clear that whoever painted it had put in a lot of effort into getting it done.

A little ways down was one of the most popular points of interest: The Hudson Hornet Racing Museum. It displayed the proud racing history of the town's famous blue racecar whose career was tragically cut short. Its presence, however, did the veteran an honor, and it allowed the citizens of the town to feel as if a part of the old man was always still with them.

Towards the end of the road was the aptly named Cozy Cone Motel, whose sign was always lit for any weary traveler. At the moment, however, the neon's intensity had begun to fade, due to the approaching sunlight.

Somewhere, within the motel lobby, slept two vehicles, nestled together for warmth and comfort. One was none other than the posterboy for their very town: Lightning McQueen. The smaller, lighter blue car next to him was the owner of the motel, and more importantly, his longtime girlfriend, Sally Carrera.

The two slept fairly soundly, although the now blue racecar seemed to fidget and mumble in his sleep, no doubt experiencing another one of his vivid dreams. The Porsche beside him nudged him in an unconscious habit of comforting the vehicle. But besides that, things were quiet. Perfectly quiet.

"Rise and shine, Mr. McQueen!"

Lightning McQueen's eyelids flew open at the abrupt sound, and he jolted violently into the waking world.

"Wha? Huh? What—" He squinted around for the source of the voice in the dimness and found the bright yellow hood of his protégé poking around the corner. "Oh…" McQueen yawned and blinked his eyes sleepily. His girlfriend was roused by the disturbance as well.

"Cruz?" McQueen mumbled. "What are you doing up?"

At his response, Cruz deemed it appropriate to fully enter the room. "You promised we could practice at Willy's Butte today, remember?" she said, wide-awake and ready for action.

"What?" McQueen glanced over at the cone-shaped alarm clock on the bedstand. Its red numbers blurred in his vision from sleep. "At  _5 in the morning_?" McQueen immediately checked out of the conversation. His eyes began to flutter shut once more. "Maybe… maybe a little later…"

Cruz frowned. "This is nothing. I used to wake up at this time to do laps  _every day_ when I was growing up. You get used to it."

McQueen was only half-listening, since he was half-asleep. "Hmm? Yeah… right..."

"Mr. McQueen!..."

"..."

Cruz's engine quietly revved out of the room. It returned a few moments later. There was a brief silence, and then…

Water! Water everywhere! He was drowning, he was sinking, he was—! Lightning spluttered awake. His blurred vision eventually revealed Cruz's smirking form in the darkness. She had brought a hose from outside and clipped it onto her hubcap, allowing her to spray her mentor into consciousness. She raised it for a moment, as if to go for one more round.

McQueen raised a tire with which to shield himself. "Okay, okay! I'm up! I'm up!" He blinked away droplets from his windshield and shook slightly to dry himself. He pouted his lips, muttering to himself unhappily. "Radiator Springs: a  _quiet_ place!"

Sally, who had been eagerly watching the entire transaction unfold, giggled at her boyfriend's disgruntled state. It seemed as if the poor ol' boy was always getting splashed in the face.

* * *

The crisp, early morning air shook both racecars into a mood of anticipation. The pinkish yellow beginnings of day emerged from behind the dusty hills and plateaus of Carburetor Canyon, dissipating the cool remnants of night. The area was littered with cactuses and desert plants, serving as one of the defining features of the place. And there was, of course, the enormous land form sprouting out from the ground, Willy's Butte. It stood where it always stood, precipitously, while also acting as a landmark for the racers' favorite practice track.

The older racecar, donned in his new Fabulous paint job, was still a bit groggy from having woken up so early. The younger, more peppier one, however, was geared up and ready to race.

"Alright, what should we start with?" Cruz asked, practically bouncing on her treads.

McQueen heaved his tires up and down in a show of indifference. His eyes were still half-closed. "I dunno. Maybe a warm-up lap?"

"Okay!" Cruz revved down into the canyon, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. When her mentor didn't follow, she zoomed back up the side.

"What's up?" she asked.

McQueen waved her off with his tire. "Oh, you can go ahead. I need some time to wake up."

Cruz snorted. "Riiight. I forgot it takes you old-timers a little longer to get warmed up."

McQueen scoffed. "That's not it. I'm just not used to waking up in the middle of the night like a crazy person."

"Don't old people tend to sleep later into the day?"

" _Go._ "

Cruz chuckled and spun off into the canyon once more. Lightning smiled at the young car's enthusiasm, despite himself. He watched her tear up the dirt with a fierce, but joyful expression on her front. Her medium-toned engine rang loud and clear against the canyon walls as she turned the bend and glided across the slanted curve by the butte. Lightning never failed to be impressed by the girl's pure, determined speed. He watched as she made that infamous left on turn three, and a pang of nostalgia coursed through his engine as she turned right to go left. He chuckled to himself as he recalled the first time he had attempted to make the turn. It felt as if it was only yesterday. And yet as he thought of his late mentor, it seemed ages since he last raced with him.

Within a matter of seconds, Cruz was back at the starting line. She shot back up the side of the canyon to rejoin her mentor. She was panting slightly from the effort, and yet she appeared to have more than 500 laps still in her.

"So? How was that? Pretty good, huh?" she asked, grinning from fender to fender.

"Mmm, not bad. Could be better though," McQueen retorted, but he suddenly felt the need to retract his comment when he saw Cruz's crestfallen expression.

"What? But that was, like, my best lap yet…" Cruz lowered her gaze to the dirt, attempting to hide her disappointment, which was quite evident at this point.

McQueen mentally chastised himself. He had forgotten that the young racer still held feelings of insecurity about her abilities. While the big race at Florida had certainly boosted her confidence at bit, it hadn't cured her of her self-esteem issues. It was easy to forget that Cruz, while seemingly self-assured on the surface, still had bouts of self-doubt every once in awhile. For someone like McQueen, these feelings had been virtually non-existent in his own mind. But owing to recent events, they had begun to crop up for the very first time.

"It was good…" McQueen began, deliberating on his words, "...but it could be even  _better_  if you did a few things differently."

"Like what?" Cruz looked up hopefully.

"Well, your line's a little off." McQueen drove down the hill and beckoned for her to follow. "Come on, I'll show you." The two moved down to the starting line.

"Okay, now follow behind me and do what I do." McQueen started up his engine, its crisp, clear sound still just as awe-inducing as years before.

"Show-off," Cruz quipped, giving him a small smile.

McQueen smirked back. Despite gaining some modesty over the years, there were still some parts of that arrogant rookie in him that never died.

"Alright, now…" McQueen lowered himself closer to the ground. "...GO!" He sped off, his tires grinding against the dirt. The dust blew into Cruz's face, causing her to cough.

"Hey! No fair!" She groaned and quickly followed suit.

The two racecars made their way into turn one as they normally did, rising up with the curve as they sped around Willy's Butte. They exited out turn two and raced toward turn three. This is where things changed up a bit.

"Okay, now watch!" McQueen moved a little more to the outside than when Cruz usually made the turn. Cruz picked up on this immediately and mimicked his movements. They came out of turn three, and entered turn four, where they pulled the same maneuvers.

They rushed toward the finish line, where McQueen screeched to a stop, allowing himself to drift 180° back around. He rolled over to Cruz, where she waited near the start.

"See what I did there?" he asked her as he approached.

Cruz frowned in thought. "I think so. You made a wider turn."

McQueen nodded his hood. "Yeah, you want to turn in a little later so you'll keep your momentum up. But of course, your turn-in point differs from track to track. The important thing is to pick a line and stick to it."

Cruz took this in. "Yeah, sometimes I have trouble with that. Sticking to a line…" She gazed down at the ground sullenly.

McQueen waved her off with his tire. "Eh, don't worry about it. The trick is to practice. Soon, it'll become second nature to you."

"I guess…" Cruz thought for a moment. "It's just that, it's a little more unpredictable when you're racing with  _real_ cars. On a real track, it seems like  _anything_ can happen."

McQueen grinned. "Well, what you did on the track a few days ago  _definitely_ wasn't something anyone expected."

Cruz gave McQueen a grateful smile. "Oh that? Psh, I kind of came up with it last minute. Wasn't too hard. Definitely thought I was gonna pull it off perfectly. Didn't doubt myself for a second."

McQueen laughed good-naturedly. "Well, I'd pay you  _big_ money to do it again, just to see the look on Storm's face." He paused for a moment. "Speaking of Storm, what ever happened to him?"

Cruz's cheerful expression fell in recollection of the troubling encounter. "Oh…"

McQueen's front grew hard, his protective instincts kicking in. "What? Is he still giving you a hard time? 'Cause if he is, I'll give him a talking to, but  _good._ "

Cruz couldn't help but smile at the mental image of McQueen sussing out Storm in her defense. "Well, I tried to make amends with him after the race the other day, but he just wouldn't budge."

McQueen narrowed his eyes. "Why? What happened?"

Cruz shook him off. "Nothing. I just told him that I didn't bear a grudge against him, despite what he did, and he just… insulted me…"

McQueen's eyes flashed dangerously. "Did he, now?"

Cruz glanced down at the ground, unaware of her mentor's vengeful pose. "Yeah… It's just that, I hate there being bad blood between me and other people. A little competition isn't too bad every once in awhile, but cars like Storm, seem a little… intense…"

McQueen scoffed. "Uh, yeah, if what he did to you is any indication."

Cruz smiled up at McQueen. "Mr. McQueen, I'm fine. Really. I'm sure I'll get through to him… eventually…"

McQueen shook his hood in disapproval. "If you ask me, you should just stay away from him."

"Kinda hard to do when we race on the same track."

"True, true…"

McQueen turned and gazed off into the desert hills, the sun peeking out from over them. "Well, one thing's for sure, you sure are patient."

Cruz grinned, proud. "Of course I'm patient, Mr. McQueen! I used to be a trainer—remember?"

McQueen chuckled. "Right, of course. And if I recall correctly, a little  _too_ patient, sometimes…"

Cruz rolled her eyes. "Oh, ha ha. You know I was just messing with you, right?"

McQueen's eyes widened. "Wait,  _what?_ You were?"

Cruz popped up on her wheels. "Oh, would you look at the time? Time for another lap!" And with that, she left McQueen to wonder in the dust once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got you a little Lightning-centric chapter this time around. I think, depending on where the story goes, Lightning might have a bigger part than I originally anticipated. He's just such an essential part of the story, since he is Cruz's mentor after all. If you asked me who the main character is of this fic is, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you. I like to think of it as Cruz's story first, and then Storm's, but honestly, Lightning is such a huge personality, I feel as if he might have his own arc too. Who knows.
> 
> On another note, I hope that part with Lightning giving Cruz pointers on her line was accurate. I had to do some research on it, but I still think I screwed it up. Whatever, I knew what I was getting into...
> 
> Also, has anyone else noticed how Lightning seems to get sprayed with water in the face a lot. Oh Lightning, how I love making you suffer.


	3. Definitely the Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: I realize that, based off of the credits of Cars 3, Cruz goes on to win the 2017 Piston Cup series. For the sake of the narrative of this story, I probably won't be writing in the frame of what happens in the credit photos. I'll try, but I'm not sure if it will all work out exactly the same. Just wait until they come out with a Cars 4, or some other extra features that take place after this film. It'll totally mess with the continuity of my own story.

Something disturbed Storm from him peaceful beauty sleep. It sounded a lot like a phone, but he couldn't be sure. No… it was definitely his phone. Storm opened his eyes groggily, already feeling a biting insult coming on, directed at whoever decided it was a good idea to wake him up—he glanced at his smart alarm clock—at 7:30 A.M.!

He answered the phone, which was installed beneath his left fender.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, not even bothering to listen to his virtual personal assistant read out the caller ID.

"Jackson, it's me," came the disapproving voice of his crew chief, "How many times do we have to go through this? I told you to be at the IGNTR facility at  _7 A.M._ , not  _7:30._ "

Storm was unabashed. "It's not my fault. What kind of crazy person wakes up at 7 in the morning?"

"Normal people, Storm. Normal people with jobs. And school."

Storm feigned thinking for a moment. "Hmm, nope. None of those things apply to me."

Storm could hear Ray sigh over the speaker. "Just get over here as soon as possible. Maybe it's not too late to beat the traffic." And with that, he hung up.

Storm had a short laugh to himself in the darkness of his room. Yeah, beat L.A. traffic. There's an idea.

Storm blinked for a moment, giving himself some time to wake up, before he rolled forward and pressed a switch which opened his bedroom curtains, allowing light into his adequately-sized Los Angeles condo. It wasn't that Storm couldn't afford bigger—because he could, what with all his millions of dollars in racing money he made. He just didn't need all that backyard space. And despite the fact that his condo cost almost two million dollars, it was only about 3,000 square feet in size. So not much room for a single car. He definitely didn't have so much space and possessions that he didn't know what to do with. He definitely didn't live all by himself, and never really had any need for the house because nobody ever visited him except for his crew. That definitely wasn't the case.

No—Storm just liked the view. It reminded him of the view he used to have when he lived with his father, in that 20 million dollar, modern masterpiece of a house, before he kicked him out and abandoned him for good.

When Storm graduated high school, his father gave his two options: either go to business school and become a businessman like himself, or study mechanical engineering, and learn how to make the very things he sells. Storm had no desire to become a businessman like his father, so he decided to go with the latter. Needless to say, he dropped out after one semester. He complained about how all the other students thought they were smarter than him. And they were. Or at least some of them were. And he didn't have any real interest in the field either. Storm was always like that. He was a very average student overall. One of his teachers said that he wasn't very interested in anything in particular, but that if he ever did find that  _one_  thing, he had the potential to be  _exceptionally_ good. His father never believed a word of it.

His old man supported him for a while, gave him money to rent out his own apartment, in the hopes that he would eventually get bored and go back to school. But Storm never did. So his father's already short patience grew even shorter, and he cut him off for good. Storm only panicked for a very short bit. He was on his own for the first time and didn't have someone else to do everything for him. But it wasn't long before he got back on his tires and went job searching. At first, he tried customer service. It went as terribly as one would imagine. He got fired several times for being rude to customers. But he claimed that it was only because they were rude to him first, and that he wasn't gonna sit there and take it, thank you very much. He attempted doing menial labor, such as factory and janitorial work, but the conditions were so harsh and humiliating for someone so high-maintenance like him that he quit after the first day. He tried modeling once. That was... interesting.

Soon, Storm was at the end of his rope. He was getting fired left and right for being an overall general nuisance, and the jobs he  _could_  hold onto bored him so much that he preferred to go broke. And he did. So one day, after basically selling all he had and having nothing left in his life, he decided to stop by the local racing arcade and check out what all the fuss was about. At first he didn't like it. The place was loud, bright, and filled with cars: exactly the type of place Storm  _never_ wanted to be. But it was all a different story when he tried playing  _Super Corsa 3_ , or as it was more commonly known: SC3, for the first time.

And it was a very different story indeed. At least in the beginning. Storm, like anyone else who had never played on one of those game stations before, wasn't immediately an expert at the game. The first few times he played, he was the runner-up, which to Storm was a fate worse than death itself. However, something inside him clicked during that very first game. He realized that  _this_  was the  _one._  Storm, who never had any prior experience with racing, decided that  _this_  was what he was going to be the best at, because if not, well, there wasn't going to be anything else. Because he did love the game. But he soon discovered—once he started getting better—that he loved  _winning_ more. And that's what he did. He spent every waking moment at the arcade, playing from opening 'till closing. Sometimes, it seemed like weeks would go by in an instant. Once he got really good, he started entering competitions, earning himself quite a lot of money. Sometimes, when he was feeling lucky—which was all the time—he started betting on games, which was probably violating a rule or law of some sort, but he was careful. He wore the newly painted lightning bolt symbols on his sides with pride.

It wasn't long before he was a legend. Cars from near and far would come to see him play. It was a bit distracting at first, having tons of cars surround him and cheer loudly whenever he made a smooth maneuver. But he grew to love it, and eventually lived off of it. He could never really explain why he loved it so much. Normally, he was someone who preferred to keep a low profile, and he was still like that, for the most part. However, for whatever reason, racing was different. He was  _good_ at that. People  _loved_ him for that. And maybe that's why it was so amazing. The arcade soon became like home for him. He  _belonged_  there. He  _mattered_  there. People  _adored_  him there.

But all of that didn't matter anymore. His new home was on the Piston Cup Racing Series track. He had new fans, more fans than he could count. He made more money, more than he could count. It was just like the arcade, but better. Instead of those vehicles back at the arcade, who were  _definitely_  not the closest things to friends he ever had, he had new people working for him. His  _crew_ worked for him now. Yes, life could not be better for Storm.

But of course, waking up early was still a pain.

* * *

Storm rolled into the IGNTR Racing Centre at around half past 8. He found his crew chief waiting for him in the sim room, wearing a less than pleased expression on his front.

"Well, well, well. Nice of you to  _finally_  show up," Ray said, stowing away the papers he had been reading.

Storm cast a disinterested glance to the side, unabashed. "It's not  _my_  fault, the traffic—"

"Right, right. It's the  _traffic's_  fault, isn't it?" The pickup truck rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

"Hey, there's not much I can do about all those slow-ass drivers." Storm made a satisfied smirk to himself. "Besides, I've already gotten, like, 3 speeding tickets in the last two weeks alone. I don't wanna get my license suspended."

Ray huffed. "Well, maybe if you actually came  _on time_ , you wouldn't need to—" He shook his hood. "Forget it. Let's just start practice already." He jerked his hood in the direction of the simulator closest to him.

Storm didn't need any more direction. He hopped on immediately, and one of the pitties started up the machine. Within seconds, Storm was hitting his top speed of 214 mph. Although Ray didn't verbally admit it, he was still impressed by Storm's flawless grace and expertise on the race track. Racing was basically second-nature to him. It was as if Ray couldn't tell where Storm began, and the simulator ended. If he was honest, it almost  _scared_ him sometimes, in a sort of awestruck kind of way, how perfect Storm was.

"Alright, you're doing pretty good," Ray commented. He'd give him that at least.

Storm narrowed his eyes in intense concentration. "Not good enough."

Ray was confused. "What do you mean? You hit your top speed already. What more do you want?"

"I want another mile, that's what." The flashing lights of the simulator screen glinted off of Storm's front.

Ray jerked back in surprise. "You wanna try going  _215_  miles per hour?"

Storm made a sound of irritation. "Uh, yeah, didn't you hear me?"

Ray studied the racer's rigid expression closely. "I mean, you  _just_ set the world record for the fastest lap ever recorded not too long ago…"

The race car never broke eye contact with the screen. "So?"

Ray thought for a moment, watching the simulator screen in silence. "Well, sure then. If you can manage it. Give it a shot."

The next couple hours were nearly dead silent, save for Ray's occasional pointer and the computer-generated voice of the simulator. But no matter how hard Storm tried, he couldn't break 215 mph.

The black and white checkered flag waved on the screen, indicating the end of the race. Storm had placed first… as usual. He rolled off the simulator to meet his crew chief.

"Nice work," Ray complemented, shooting a quick glance at the racer from over his clipboard.

Storm gazed off past Ray's figure, a dull, unimpressed look on his face. "Yeah, I guess."

Ray glanced back up at Storm once more. "What?"

Storm suddenly grew frustrated. "Didn't you see? I topped out at 214!"

Ray blinked. "Yeah, Storm, that's great. Keep it up."

Storm looked ready to blow a gasket. " _Keep it up?_ The next race is in less than a week! I'm not gonna win if I keep it at 214!"

Ray was baffled. "Of course you are, Jackson. You're the fastest car out there. Well, maybe except for—" He finally understood. "Wait… this is about last week's race… isn't it?"

Storm's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the unfortunate event. But only for a second. He quickly adopted a more irritated front. "Well  _yeah_ , I  _lost_ —remember?"

Ray gave a short laugh of disbelief. " _Everybody_ loses a race every once in awhile. Even  _you_  lost a few last season— _remember_?" Ray shook his hood. "Honestly, Jackson, I thought we've already gone over this."

Storm glared up at his crew chief indignantly. "Well  _last_ time, nobody did a freaking  _flip_  over me!" He growled in frustration. "I've got to change up my whole game."

"Here's some advice," Ray shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Don't slam racers into the walls anymore. That might do the trick."

Storm squinted up at the gray pickup truck, his mouth forming a thin, straight line. " _Very_  funny." He didn't bother to hide the venom in his voice.

Ray couldn't help but be amused at the racer's gloomy appearance. He resembled a petulant child who couldn't stand it when he didn't get his way. In fact, that was quite an accurate description of Storm when he was like this: a sullen, petulant child. Nevertheless, Reverham knew he wasn't helping the situation by teasing him like this.

He sighed. "We've been over this before, Jackson. You can't lose your temper like this when you don't get your way. Not here, and  _certainly_  not on the track, either. Not only is it unprofessional, but it causes you to lose your focus as well."

Storm cast his eyes down at the floor. His demeanor suggested that he was unapologetic, but Ray could tell that his words had some impact on him. "Well I'm  _sorry_ for being so competitive, but how else am I supposed to win?"

Ray gave Storm a firm, but supportive look. "You said it yourself: you have to be the best Jackson Storm that you can be. And that means having good sportsmanship—even when you lose." He paused for a moment when he noticed that Storm was unconvinced. "Just don't let your emotions cloud your judgment. Focus on what you came here to do: race."

Storm considered his words. "I don't know, Gus…"

Ray exhaled deeply. "Look Jackson, I don't know what else to tell you. Maybe it'd help if you tried working on changing your attitude toward things. Either way, you don't need to worry so much. You're still just as talented a racer as you were the last race. You'll be fine…. And I thought I told you not to call me Gus anymore…"

Storm was silent as he spent some time to ponder Ray's advice. Ray didn't even have to bother interpreting Storm's cryptic expression to know that he felt flattered by his praise. Although he rarely expressed it, the boy really did appreciate Ray's guidance and support. Ray had a feeling the young man never had enough of it growing up.

Finally, Storm exhaled as well. "Fine. I'll try to not be  _too_  much of a jerk. Also, I'm not  _worried_. I just want to make sure I can handle whatever comes at me next."

Ray was somewhat satisfied with this response. "Good. That's good thinking. Start thinking outside of the box, and you might be more prepared."

Storm nodded. "Well. I'm gonna go take a quick breather." He turned and headed for the exit. "And when I return, I'm gonna come up with a strategy  _so_ good that I'll prove the other racers just who  _really is_  the best out of them all."

Ray waited until his racer was completely out of the room before sighing once again. It seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. Sometimes, it really felt as if he was not only Jackson's crew chief, but his life coach as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case you haven't figured it out yet, Storm is sort of my favorite Cars character. Gasp, I know, heresy right? Why not Lightning? Well, I like him too, but I kind of have a thing for edgy assholes, if my profile description is any indication. I like Cruz too, since happy, optimistic characters are always such a joy.
> 
> Also, you get my idea of Storm's backstory in this chapter. Sorry if it's a doozy. I feel as if my headcanon for his backstory is quite similar to a lot of people's: he has rich parents who neglect him, he's spoiled, etc. You'll see more of this at play later on. Oh yeah, and for the size of Storm's house, I assumed that in the Cars universe, houses are—on average—just naturally bigger, accounting for cars' bigger sizes. So they probably get more space for the same price as in our world.
> 
> But anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter this time around. I don't like making chapters too long, so sometimes it works out that each chapter is from one perspective. It depends, of course.
> 
> Finally, I know it seems that this story has a slow start, and that it meanders a bit, and that's because it does. I'm a sort of slow-burn kind of writer. But don't worry, there's going to be a certain turning point in maybe, five or so chapters. But don't be alarmed, it's like I said, the chapter-length varies. I just like getting all the characters developed first.


	4. Runs in the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up—this chapter is LONG. A lot of dialogue and character development. I know—I'm not really selling myself here. But I just wanted to set some foundation for the characters before I move onto more… pressing events… Also, you'll notice that the point-of-view for this chapter is a bit different: more third-person objective this time around, instead of third-person limited. This is due to the fact that there's just so much going on this chapter.

Cruz was ecstatic. Her family was coming to visit her at Radiator Springs—where she was currently staying—for the first time in months. Although her hometown in Texas wasn't too far of a drive, Cruz had never found enough time to visit her beloved relatives back when she worked as a trainer at the Rust-eze Racing Center.

The yellow race car couldn't keep still all day. Her family was due to arrive at around 6 P.M., but Cruz could hardly wait that long. She began watching for them around 4, out by the edge of town, right under the billboard with Lightning McQueen's lovely visage plastered to it. McQueen himself—in all his Fabulous glory—along with Sally and Mater, didn't come out to join her until around 5:30. The rest of the townsfolk lingered by their respective facilities, eagerly awaiting the group's arrival as well.

"I can't wait to see the looks on my cousins' faces when they see my new paint job!" she told McQueen, unable to suppress her gleeful delight.

"Why? Would they be jealous?" McQueen asked, amused at the concept.

Cruz's smile stretched further, if that was even possible. "YES! My oldest cousin, Pablo,  _especially._ He used to  _love_ racing."

McQueen raised a sly lid, intrigued. "Oh? Does this Pablo  _still_ love racing?"

Cruz's face fell the slightest bit. "Nah. I mean, he still likes it, but more as a hobby than anything." She shrugged as a sign of indifference. "I guess real life sort of gets in the way."

McQueen seemed curious to hear more. "Well, what does he do now?"

"Oh hey, look!" Mater interrupted, staring off into the distance excitedly. "Here they come!"

The others diverted their attention to the tow truck's line of sight—Cruz ready to jump out of her frame. They searched the road in anticipation. Mater squinted his eyes and scrunched up his face, taking a closer look at the moving object near the horizon.

"Aw, shoot!" he exclaimed. "That ain't them! That's just one a them tumbleweeds!" He blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his body with a loud shudder. "Looks like it's about time I got my eyes checked!"

Cruz couldn't hide her disappointment. McQueen noticed this, and endeavored to cheer her up.

"Hey—by the way—how many are coming, again?" he inquired.

"Three," Cruz replied. "My aunt, Carla; my oldest cousin, Pablo; and my other cousin, Victor."

"Well, gee, your family's smaller than I thought," Mater butted in. " _My_ family—well, shucks, you'd need a GDS just to find one of 'em at the family reunions!"

McQueen laughed. "I think you mean G _P_ S, Mater."

Mater frowned in thought. "Well, sure. That's what I said."

Cruz smiled, although a trace of something else lay in her countenance. "Yep. It's just us three. I mean, there  _are_ more of my extended family, but  _these guys_ , they're my... my  _family_ —you know?"

McQueen nodded, although he took note of his protégé's mixed emotions. He made sure to tread carefully with his next inquiry. "Yeah… so I guess they raised you then?"

Cruz maintained that vaguely melancholic smile. "Yeah… my aunt—she's my mom's sister. My mom…" Cruz's cheerful features dampened. "...she died when I was  _really_ young. And my dad, I… I never even knew him…"

McQueen was a little sorry he prodded her. "Oh… I… I see…" He suddenly realized what this meant for him and his role as her mentor. Cruz had never had much of a father figure in her life. Sure, she may have grown up with boys, and she was quite the tomboy herself, but she never had that person to instill confidence in her—to encourage her to follow her dreams. Lightning certainly never considered himself a father figure to her, or to anyone else for that matter (he refused to picture himself as someone that old!). But with this recent revelation in mind, Lightning knew that his impact on her must have been more significant than he previously thought.

Cruz caught McQueen's apologetic demeanor, and quickly set to rectify it. "It's not a big deal, really! For as long as I could remember,  _they've_ been my family—my aunt and my cousins." She waved a tire dismissively, although something about her response seemed disingenuous. "So—so, it's not like I ever felt like I was  _missing_ something…"

McQueen appeared to come to some sort of understanding. "Well, I wasn't always close with  _my_  parents, actually. I mean, they  _loved_ me and all that, but they never really took my dream of racing seriously…"

Cruz's eyes widened at this newfound information. "Really?" She glanced over at Sally. She nodded. The Porsche had apparently heard this story before.

"Yeah…" Lightning continued. "When I left for the racing academy, we kind of had a falling out. My old man—heh—he was  _not_  happy about the fact that I wanted to be a racer. I didn't speak to them for years."

Cruz nodded, listening intently. "Wow…"

"I didn't reconnect with them until after the big race in '06," Lightning faced the others, a jestful grin on his front. "You know, that one race I  _didn't_  win."

They all shared a brief laugh. Mater suddenly stopped in his tracks, a look of confusion alighting upon his face. "Wait, you mean you  _didn't_ win that race?"

"Well, after I met all  _you_ guys…" McQueen gestured to Mater, Sally, and the rest of Radiator Springs. "...I sort of changed…  _a lot._ "

Sally chuckled. "Yeah, if I recall correctly, when we first met, you tried to take me out to dinner.  _During court._ "

McQueen laughed and gave her a gentle nudge. "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

Cruz was surprised to hear this factoid about her mentor. "Wow, you sure  _were_ different."

McQueen smiled. "Yeah…" His content faded as he hastily wrapped up his story. "Well, I still visit them every once in awhile—my parents. But, uh, our relationship was never really the same after that…" He glanced down at the ground and shifted some dirt with his tire. He wanted to give the appearance of being indifferent, but they could all tell that he was a bit regretful over the current state of his relationship with his family. Sally moved up close to McQueen, giving him a comforting rub of the fenders.

McQueen smiled at this gesture, and lifted his hood to gaze at his three companions and the rest of the town. "Well, it doesn't really matter much to me anymore. I've got  _you_  guys, afterall. I've always felt like  _you_ all were my family, more than anything."

Sally smiled, clearly touched. "Oh, Stickers…"

Cruz grinned as well. "Aww..."

Mater began sobbing audibly. "Aw, McQueen," he sniffed, "I always  _knowed_  you was my brother, after all!"

The sound of foreign engines came from down the road. Cruz perked up at the sudden disturbance and spun around. She barely had to glimpse the three cars coming down the path to recognize them at once.

"Oh my gosh! Look! They're here! It's them!" She sped off in their direction without further ado. Lightning and Sally exchanged amused looks, and followed after her, with Mater in tow.

"Tía Carla! Pablo! Victor!" A small yellow blur was barreling towards the three visitors at breakneck speed. The reddish-orange hatchback of the group smiled warmly.

"Cruz! Mija!" she greeted as Cruz grew near. The other two accompanying the hatchback were a dark blue sports coupé and a slightly smaller, more simplistic silver coupé.

"Heyy, Cruz!" The blue coupé said, as the silver coupé smiled beside him.

"Pablo!" Cruz said to the blue one. "Victor!" She nuzzled up to them both, and then to her aunt.

"It is  _so_  good to see you all again!" Cruz exclaimed after the initial pleasantries were over.

"Of course, Cruz," her aunt said.

"Yeahh, Cruz!" Her cousin, Pablo, did an impressed survey of her new Dinoco blue. "Nice paint job!"

Cruz glanced down at her livery and smiled proudly. "Yeah, I knoww right?"

"I can't believe you really made it big," Victor commented, and it seemed like he really meant it.

Pablo laughed. "I can't believe you got faster than  _me_!"

McQueen and the others rolled up to meet them. Pablo grinned cheekily.

"And this must be…"

McQueen struck a little pose. "Lightning McQueen!"

Pablo's eyes were wide with excitement. "Wow! In the paint!" He gave McQueen a quick up-and-down. "Speaking of paint, I almost didn't recognize you with that paint job!"

McQueen beamed, proud. "Yup. Gone it done after my old mentor: The Fabulous Hudson Hornet. Maybe you've heard of him?"

Pablo nodded, giving his new design one last gander. "Yeah, of course!"

The middle-aged hatchback pulled up to Cruz so that she could get a closer look at the Radiator Springs trio. "These are your new friends, Cruz?"

Cruz's eyes lit up in remembrance. "Oh, yeah! I'll introduce you!" First, she turned to garner the attention of the Radiator Springs entourage.

"Uh, guys, this is my tía, my Aunt Carla." She went down the row. "My cousin Pablo, and my cousin Victor." She then turned to address her family, presenting her friends to them.

"Guys, these are my new friends from Radiator Springs." First she pointed at Mater. "That's Mater—"

Mater pulled an exaggerated bow. " _Sir_  Tow Mater."

"Oh, riiight." Cruz moved on to the light blue Porsche. "And that's—"

"Sally Carrera." Sally introduced herself. "Town attorney  _and_  Lightning McQueen's girlfriend." She gave McQueen a coy look, which he returned.

"And of course," Cruz finished, "you all know who  _this_  fabulous blue racecar is."

Aunt Carla bowed her hood in gratitude. "Thank you so much for taking care of my niece."

Lightning waved her off. "Ah, well, don't mention it." He paused for a moment. "Though she  _was_ kind of a handful at first."

Cruz rolled her eyes, embarrassed. "Oh, psh." She turned to acknowledge her family, jabbing a tire in McQueen's direction. "He's the guy who gave me my big break.  _And_ he's my crew chief for the season."

Pablo's eyes bulged, mouth slightly agape. "Nooo way! Lightning McQueen is your  _crew chief?_... That's cool, I guess."

The whole group chortled at his remark.

"I saw you on the T.V., mija," Aunt Carla told Cruz.

Pablo popped up on his wheels. "Oh yeah! That flip you did over the guy that pushed you—that was  _sick!_ "

"And  _dangerous_ ," Victor added disapprovingly.

Aunt Carla shook her hood in recollection of the occasion. "My engine nearly stalled when I saw you race." She peered up at McQueen with eyes of concern. "Is it really that safe?"

McQueen smiled assuredly. "Oh yeahh, don't worry Tía Carla—can I call you that?—it's rare that anyone ever gets  _seriously_ injured."

Pablo gave him a sly smirk. "I'm guessing you don't count, Lightning McQueen."

McQueen was caught off-guard for a moment by the jesting remark before he quickly assumed a more unaffected disposition. "Well, okay. That was  _one_ time in over a  _decade_ of racing!"

Aunt Carla was unconvinced. She looked to Cruz. "But what if that race car tries to hurt you again, mija?"

A proud grin broke across Lightning's face. "Oh, I don't think Jackson Storm'll be messin' with Cruz on the track anymore." He gave Cruz a knowing look. "She's proven herself to be  _quite_ the formidable racer."

Cruz smiled, grateful for her mentor's support.

"Speaking of racing," McQueen continued, turning his attention toward Pablo, "Pablo! I heard from Cruz that you used to be  _quite_ the racer back in the day. What do you say you, me—and your brother too—we have a little race down at the local track?"

Pablo kicked at some dirt, his eyes wandering in feigned modesty. "Ohh, I'm not sure…"

McQueen fluttered his tire at him. "C'mon. This is just  _Lightning McQueen_  you're racing here. He's only a 7-time Piston Cup winner, champion of the ages. No big deeaal!"

Pablo gave in. "Oh, alright. If you insist, Mr. Lightning McQueen."

"I don't see why not," Victor added.

"Hey!" Cruz joined in, "Don't forget about me!"

Pablo turned to Cruz, relaxing up and down on his wheels. "Now we'll see who's  _really_ faster!"

Mater jumped up. "Ooh! I'll go tell everybody!" And with that, he sped off in the direction of Radiator Springs.

A brief silence transpired before Aunt Carla's eyes lit up in remembrance. She turned to Cruz. "Ooh! Before I forget, I brought a little something to share with your new friends!"

She wheeled around and opened her trunk, allowing a stand to cartwheel out gracefully. Attached to the top was a tablet. Aunt Carla squinted down at the screen and swiped through some options. "Hmm, now where is it…?" She landed on a video. "Oh! Here it is!" She positioned the tablet so that everybody could see the display better. They all crowded around the device, peering at it curiously.

"I managed—with Victor's help—to transfer the footage from the camcorder to the tablet," Aunt Carla explained, as she gave Cruz a wink.

Cruz frowned, not privy to this information. "Huh?"

Aunt Carla pressed play. Shaky footage began playing, displaying the exterior of a very familiar-looking run-down muffler repair shop...

Suddenly, Cruz knew. "Oh no…" She backed away, shaking her hood in a mixture of horror and disbelief. She stared at the screen like it was a harbinger of doom. "Oh no, not this…"

Her crew chief laughed and glanced over at her. "What? What is it?"

Cruz couldn't afford to pay him any mind. "Tía…" she pleaded, reaching out to stop the video, but her aunt only swatted her tire away. "Tía, please!" Her voice rose an octave out of desperation. " _Por favor! No me avergüences delante de mis nuevos amigos_!"

Aunt Carla only chuckled. "Oh, Cruz, it's nothing to be embarrassed about!"

McQueen was only more intrigued. "What?"

His question was soon enough answered for him. A young female voice sounded from the apparatus.

" _Tía! Mírame!"_ The unskilled operator of the camera finally managed to focus in on the object of interest. It was…

McQueen broke out into a huge grin. "Oh. My god."

A young Cruz Ramirez was decked out in Lightning McQueen attire. Her costume was admittedly shabby: it consisted of a paper lightning bolt pasted to her fender. Her red paint job and sprayed-on 95 logo were sloppy at best. A cardboard ducktail spoiler fluttered precariously from its loosely-taped position on her trunk. Her lively movements weren't helping to maintain the integrity of her garb, either. The quality of her dress, however, seemed to be the least of her worries. The young girl flashed a toothy grin to the camera.

" _Look, Tía! I'm Lightning McQueen!"_ She struck a goofy pose. " _Ka-chow!"_

The entire group burst into laughter. Cruz sunk to the ground in a futile attempt to disappear on the spot. Her mortified expression spoke for itself.

McQueen gave Cruz a cheeky grin. "Heyyy, nice costume!"

Cruz only covered her front with her treads. "Please, don't."

But the mischievous blue race car wasn't finished yet. "So it looks like you've  _always_ had a thing for dressing up as famous race cars, eh?"

Cruz groaned, refusing to look her mentor in the eyes. His girlfriend, however, was more sympathetic.

She rolled down next to her. "Well, I think you look simply  _adorable._ "

Cruz smiled, grateful, but flustered by the complement. "Thanks, Miss Sally."

* * *

"Welcome, new friends and old, to today's-a race at Willy's Butte!" Luigi announced, the little black-and-white checkered flag fluttering from his windshield. His longtime friend, Guido, hopped up and down beside him excitedly. Luigi pointed his flag toward the racers on the track before him. "We have-a with us today, the Great Lightning-a McQueen—!"

McQueen revved his engine confidently and flashed a toothy grin, giving every vehicle there flashbacks to his rookie days. Everyone, including both Aunt Carla and the Radiator Springs folks, cheered from atop the canyon, where they watched eagerly. Sally rolled her eyes affectionately at McQueen's cocky display.

"—Cruz Ramirez—!" Luigi went on. Aunt Carla smiled down at Cruz from her spot on the canyon, and Cruz grinned back.

"—and our guests, Pablo and Victor…?" Luigi frowned at them expectantly.

"Hernandez," Pablo informed duly.

"...Hernandez!" Luigi finished. He raised the flag in the air, the rod taut and poised.

"On your mark…"

Engines started revving.

"...get set…"

Their internal mechanisms growled in anticipation.

"...GO!"

All four of them squealed off in a hurry. A great cloud of dust formed in their wake. Luigi and Guido's tiny forms were barely discernable in the flurry.

Lightning snatched up the pole position at first, but he was quickly outmatched by Cruz and her rapid acceleration on the inside. He couldn't help but grin at her laudable performance. But not too much—he still had a race to win.

It looked like Pablo was gaining on Cruz a few times throughout the race, especially coming out of turn two, but with that tricky turn three, he had no chance. Some distance started forming between the two cousins. Victor was a respectable length behind Pablo, while McQueen was right on Cruz's tailpipe.

"Here they come!" Flo announced from the audience's perch.

A wild and fantastic whirlwind of racers swept across the viewers. Their engines roared, filling the canyon with a rich and pleasant sound, causing bits of rock to rattle against the ground with the vibrations.

"Woohoo!" Cruz hollered, zipping around in circles. It was obvious who the victor was—and it was not Victor. "Alright! I won!"

Aunt Carla rose on her struts. "That's my girl!" The rest of the crowd cheered along with her.

Cruz paused to wave at her aunt, before glancing over at McQueen's relaxed expression.

"Oh! Mr. McQueen!" Cruz smiled archly at her crew chief. "You did pretty good too."

McQueen played along. "Oh, I just didn't want to embarrass you by beating you in front of your aunt."

"Riiight."

McQueen turned to see Pablo and Victor coming up to join them. It was clear who had placed third, and it was  _still_  not Victor.

"Nice racing, you two," McQueen complemented.

Victor shrugged his tires, complacent with his result. "Eh, racing wasn't really my thing, anyway."

McQueen moved on to his brother. "I gotta say, Pablo, you're pretty good for someone who doesn't race anymore." His sentiments were sincere.

Pablo rolled his eyes up to the sky in modesty. "Well, I participated in a few local races when I was younger, but I never really made it big."

This piqued McQueen's interest. "Why? What happened?"

Pablo's demeanor became more quiet and subdued. "Well, being the oldest, I had to find a more 'stable' job to support my family—my mamá."

McQueen nodded in comprehension. "Ah…"

Pablo's features lifted once more. "It didn't turn out  _all_  bad, though! I started a little business selling parts in my hometown!" He jerked his cab in his brother's direction. "Victor helps me run it."

McQueen smiled at them both. "Wow. Well, good for you."

He glanced over at his friends back on the cliff. Sally's smile invited him over.

He turned back to his fellow racers. "Well, nice racing with you two." He felt Cruz's wide, expectant stare. "And  _Cruz_." He veered off toward the vehicles waiting for him. "I'll catch up with you guys in a bit."

Victor rolled after him. "I'll come with you."

Pablo and Cruz watched them go, relishing together in the cool aftermath of the race. It was as if time hadn't even gone by since their last competition as kids.

Cruz glanced over at Pablo, scrutinizing his new color.

"You know," she said, "I think the red suited you better."

Pablo sighed, evoking a mixture of both contentment and regret. "Yeah… it did…"

Cruz studied the resigned state of the sports car for a moment. "Come on, Pablo." She gave him an encouraging shove. "I  _know_  you want to get out there and do big things! Look at me—if  _I_  managed to pull it off, so can you!"

Pablo seemed mixed. "I know… it's just that… I wanted to stay home so I could take care of mamá, you know?" He shook his hood with disbelief at his mother's sheer devotion to their upbringing. "She always worked so hard for  _us._ "

Cruz lay a reassuring tire against Pablo's side. "Don't worry—now that I'm a  _real_ racer, I can use the money I make to support her!"

Pablo peered up at Cruz with a hopeful look. "Really? You'd do that?"

Cruz smiled, straightening up in pride. "Of course!"

The blue sports car's countenance brightened considerably. His eyes shifted around in eager anticipation, lost in the possibilities of his now uncertain future. The semblance of a sudden concern crossed his face, and he turned to his cousin.

"Are you really okay with me leaving my business?"

Cruz hesitated. "Wellll, you might wanna sort that our first…" She gave Pablo a friendly shove. "But I got your back, cuz!"

Pablo seemed content with this response. He chuckled. "Well, I don't know if I'll pursue  _racing_ per se, but I really want to travel the world and see what's out there." He puffed up in a sort of heroic fashion. "I want to find my  _calling._ "

"Wow," Cruz quipped. "Dramatic."

Pablo laughed and gave her a playful jab. "Oh, shut up." He thought for a moment, a smile stretching across his front. "Who knows, Cruz. Maybe you'll see me racing on the Piston Cup track sometime soon."

Cruz rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." She started in sudden realization. "Oh! In the meantime, I know someone who can get you back in your red!"

* * *

"Ayy, what do you think, man?" Ramone lowered Pablo down from the hydraulic lift of his body shop and moved back to admire his handiwork.

Pablo rolled up to the mirror, inspecting his familiar red look with a keen eye. The impressed visages of McQueen, Cruz, Victor, and his mother were visible in the reflection. Pablo swung around to face the others, wearing a satisfied grin on his front.

"This is great!" he told Ramone. "Thanks, man.  _Se lo agradezco mucho_."

The artist waved him off modestly. "Eh,  _no hay de qué_."

"What is that," McQueen asked, driving up close to take a better look at the color. " _Lightning McQueen_  red?"

Ramone shrugged. "Some of it, yeah. But I mixed it up with some of the other stuff to make it  _unique_ , you know?"

Pablo puffed up like a peacock. "It's  _Pablo Hernández red_."

Cruz shook her hood in awed disbelief. "I told you, Ramone is a  _pro_." She gestured down at her own new ensemble. "I mean, look at  _this_!"

The flame-jobbed low rider laughed, clearly flattered. "What can I say? Ramone's got the  _touch._ " He glanced over at Victor. "What about you, little man? Ramone can fix something up for you if you want too."

Victor shook his tire—his voice wavering with anxiety. "Ohh, no. I'm good. Thanks anyway, though."

Pablo gave his brother a bump to his side. "Victor's a stick in the mud when it comes to trying anything new."

Victor frowned, pouting indignantly. "Heyy! No, I'm not!"

"He's probably had that  _exact_ same plain ol' grey paint job for over a decade now," Pablo continued mercilessly.

Aunt Carla decided to put her motherly powers to good use. "Okay, okay, mijos. How about we head on over to Flo's and join the others?"

Pablo assented. "Alright!"

He and the others turned to leave Ramone's House of Body Art. Aunt Carla was the next to last to leave the place, with Cruz lingering close behind her.

The yellow and blue race car nudged her aunt gently as they emerged into the cool evening air.

"Tía," Cruz said to her quietly, so that the others wouldn't hear. "Wait."

Aunt Carla turned to face her niece. The other cars were already by the filling station. The two were alone, with nothing but the approaching night to keep them company.

"What is it, Cruz?" Aunt Carla asked, already sensing Cruz's intent behind pulling her aside.

"I wanted to talk to you for a moment," Cruz replied, her expression solemn.

The hatchback's eyes glowed with warmth. "Of course, mija."

They parked themselves outside Ramone's shop, far enough so that they could have some privacy, but close enough to where they could have a comfortable view of the vehicles interacting by the café. The sound of their lively chatter permeated through the still Arizona desert. It was a sight to see—like a happy family living in a snow globe, contained in their own little world, in the middle of the middle-of-nowhere.

Aunt Carla turned to Cruz, her manner patient. "What is it, cariño?"

Cruz took a deep breath and exhaled before beginning. "Tía… Growing up, I never realized how hard you worked to keep us kids alive and happy…"

Her aunt was touched. She placed a tire on Cruz's side. "Oh, Cruz. You know it's a mother's job to provide for her kids…" She thought for a second. "And her  _sister's_ kids. I did what any parent would do."

Cruz moved back so she could stare directly up into her aunt's face. "It's not just that! Even on those days when all you wanted to do was sleep, you'd always have a smile for us! And, you'd always make sure that we'd have something for Christmas, even if we couldn't afford any presents. And—and, even those times when I got angry or frustrated, you'd still be patient with me and try to make me feel better, even though  _you_ were the one who needed to feel better—" Her voice caught in her throat and she stopped and stared down at the ground, slightly out of breath.

Aunt Carla's eyes were wide with surprise before they softened and crinkled at the corners. "Oh, mija, you know I was always happy to see you kids happy.  _That's_  what made all those hours worth it: to see you smile."

Cruz gazed back up at her aunt, her eyes glistening slightly. "Yeah… well, I don't think there will be any way I can thank you enough for all that you've done..." She took note of her blue-decaled outfit. "For taking care of me so that I could go on to do what I loved…" She spoke the last words with a hushed, fierce passion. Her eyes shone with fire amid the shadow of night. "So I could  _race_."

Aunt Carla's eyes sparkled like wells of light in the fading day. "All for you, cariño."

Cruz smiled, a certain idea making itself known on her face. "But… I think there's  _some_ way I can at least  _partly_ repay you…"

Aunt Carla was all ears. "What do you mean?"

The yellow race car beamed up at her aunt. "Tía, once I win some more races, I want to give you some of the money I make to buy you something a little  _nicer_  that old muffler repair shop."

Aunt Carla was stunned. "Cruz, you want to buy me a new house?"

Cruz nodded, her whole body rocking up and down with the movement. "More than that, Tía. I'll give you enough  _dinero_  so you'll never have to work again!"

The middle-aged vehicle struggled with forming words. She shook her hood vigorously. "Oh, Cruz. I… I can't take your hard-earned racing money! It's  _your's_. You've worked so hard for it!"

"No, Tía," Cruz reminded her firmly, "It wasn't just me who worked hard for it.  _You've_ worked hard for it too."

Aunt Carla took this in. She pondered over the offer for a moment before taking Cruz's tires in her own. She squeezed them tightly and gazed down at her niece with tears in her eyes.

"Okay, Cruz," she said, relenting. "If that's what you really want."

Cruz broke out into a similar teary-eyed expression. "Yes, Tía. It's what I want."

The older car sniffed and nodded firmly before releasing her niece's treads. They bathed in the "calm after the storm" atmosphere for a few moments before Aunt Carla spoke once more.

"So, there was this new flat screen T.V. I had my eye on…"

Cruz's eyes widened. "Tía!"

The orange hatchback chuckled heartily. "Oh, Cruz, I'm joking, of course. You have to win those races first, don't you?"

Cruz lowered herself down into a determined racing stance. "Oh, don't worry. I am  _winning_ those races!"

Aunt Carla smiled down at Cruz, and something about her expression said that she didn't doubt her for a second. The two family members cruised on happily to Flo's V8 Café to join the others.

* * *

The current scene at Flo's V8 Café was one of great general merriment. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes were spread out about the gas pumps, with Flo at the head, taking orders from inside her shop.

"How was your drive over here, honey?" the motorama girl inquired cheerfully of the female hatchback of the group.

"Oh, it was fine," Aunt Carla replied, sipping a can of oil, "I just felt like I was holding up the boys because I had to stop for a break so many times!"

Flo cackled. "Ooh, girl, I know what you mean!" She leaned in close. "Don't tell anybody, but I'm  _really_ starting to feel those miles!"

Her husband cozied up next to her. "You're just as beautiful as when I first met you, baby."

Flo chuckled, her eyes half-lidded at the low rider. "Ohh, Ramone." The two preceded to make sounds of affection at each other.

Sarge rolled his eyes from his spot next to them. "Ugh. Love."

Fillmore, by his side as ever, smiled. "Isn't it  _wonderful_?"

McQueen, who was also situated near Flo and Ramone, joked, "Hey, I think Lizzie's got you beat," referring to Flo's comment on her own age.

The black Model T, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, glared at the cheeky race car. "What was that, hot rod?" she demanded in an intimidating tone.

McQueen gulped. "Uh, nothing!"

Lizzie's front brightened in an instant. "Oh! I thought you said something!"

Farther down the row of gas pumps, Luigi was relentlessly questioning Pablo on his opinions of Italian cars.

"So." Luigi moved up close to him. "How do you-a like the Ferraris? Very good, yes?" He beamed up at him expectantly.

Pablo nodded. "Oh, sure! Lamborghinis are pretty cool too, right?"

Luigi squinted at him. "Hmm, maybe so. But Ferrari still better."

His trusty blue forklift companion nodded beside him, his prongs crossed in an inquisitive expression. "Sì, sì."

Sheriff drove up to Flo's facility. "Flo! You wouldn't happen to have any more of those donuts, would you?"

"What kind?" Flo asked.

Sheriff shrugged in an attempt to appear indifferent. "Oh, you know… the pink... frosted sprinkled ones."

"One pink frosted sprinkled donut coming right up!" Flo announced, turning to prepare it.

"Oh!" Sheriff waved a tire to catch her attention, then lowered his voice. "Make that two!"

"Heyy, Sheriff," McQueen jested. "Maybe you should cut down on that kind of stuff in your diet."

Sheriff shot him a dirty look. "Quiet, hot rod! What's a cop without his donuts, huh?" He gave him a quick up-and-down. "Besides, you're getting to be up there in years yourself."

McQueen's eyes widened in a mixture of both offense and fear. "Heyy, no I'm not!"

Mater slapped McQueen on his side and guffawed beside him. "Ha! He called you  _old_!"

Sheriff looked at the rusty tow truck. "You too, Mater."

Mater froze. " _Me_?"

Meanwhile, Cruz and Victor were having their own private conversation farther off from the main ensemble.

"Are you really okay with taking over the business from Pablo?" Cruz asked him.

Victor smiled earnestly. "Yeah, Cruz. I'm all for it."

Cruz frowned. "But haven't you ever wanted to do something  _bigger_?" She lifted a tire in the air, as if simulating that very path. "Something  _life-changing_?"

The silver car thought for a moment. "Maybe one day. But for now, I'm alright." His lids drew up in concern. "Besides, someone has to keep an eye on mamá. We can't just leave her alone."

Cruz's eyes flickered to the ground; she was slightly ashamed of her own eagerness. "I guess…" She tried a half-hearted smile. "Family first, am I right?"

Victor shrugged. "I guess…" He challenged her with a steady stare. "But what would have happened to  _your_  dream, Cruz, if you put family first and stayed behind?"

Cruz peered up at the mention of this before shifting her gaze back down. "Yeah… but I still kinda feel bad…"

Victor placed a reassuring tire on Cruz's side. "Don't worry, Cruz. It's only because  _we_  put  _you_  first. We all look out for  _each_   _other_."

Cruz glanced back up at him and smiled, grateful. "Well don't worry, Victor. I'm gonna pay you guys back for all you've done—twofold! Especially Tía!"

Victor smiled. "Hey, with family, it all comes back around, doesn't it?"

Cruz nodded. She frowned with a sudden design and focused on her crew chief in the distance. She observed him for a moment chatting with Sally quietly. "Speaking of family…" She caught McQueen's eye and waved him over. McQueen glanced over at her and said some parting words to Sally before rolling over.

"What's up?" he asked as he approached.

Cruz jerked her hood at her cousin. "Hey, mind if you leave us alone for a minute?"

Victor nodded. "Sure, I'll go bug Pablo." He departed for the others. McQueen watched him leave with a raised lid. He frowned at his racer, concern growing on his face.

"What? Is something going on?" he inquired.

Cruz gave him a knowing look. "Well, you tell me, Mr. McQueen."

The veteran racer blinked. "Huh?"

Cruz scoffed. "I'm talking about  _her_ , silly." She pointed at the blue Porsche in the distance.

McQueen's eyes darted from Sally back to Cruz. He was just as apprehensive as before, if not moreso now. "What? Is there something up with Sally?" he asked, his tone adopting an increasingly anxious edge.

Cruz sighed in exasperation. "No, you big worry wart. I"m talking about why you and her are still boyfriend and girlfriend after all these years!"

McQueen was lost. "Uhh, because we love each other?"

Cruz pointed a tire at him, channeling her inner motivator. " _Exactly._ So why don't you  _do something_  about it?"

McQueen stared in utter confusion.

"You know, instead of boyfriend and girlfriend, you could be man and…" Cruz motioned with her tire for him to finish.

McQueen was stuck. "...and?"

Cruz threw up her tires in defeat. "I'm telling you you should put a rim on it already, Mr. McQueen!"

McQueen's front immediately melted into an expression of understanding and relief. "Ohhhh." He thought for a moment, and then realized what this meant. His face grew grim once more. "Oh…"

Cruz turned out her tires expectantly. "Well? What's the holdup?"

McQueen sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground. This was evidently something he had pondered over many a sleepless night before. "Well, it's not like I haven't  _thought_ about it before…"

"Then what are you waiting for Mr. McQueen? Go for it!" Cruz started bouncing on her wheels. "C'mon, I'll even make up a dance for you to hype you up!"

McQueen held out a tire to stop her. "No no no, that's  _fine_.  _No_  dancing."

Cruz stopped moving. "Well, what's wrong? You  _know_  she'll say yes."

McQueen shrugged and glanced off to the side. "It's not her I'm concerned about…"

Cruz scrutinized him for a second, then widened her eyes in surprise, gasping slightly. "Wait!... You  _don't_  want to marry Sally?"

McQueen jolted at the volume of her statement and shushed her promptly. He peeked over at where Sally was parked to check if she had heard Cruz's comment. When he ascertained that she didn't, he turned back to Cruz and sighed.

"Of course I do, Cruz," he said. "It's just that… well, at first it was the racing, and the always being away—'cause of the traveling, you know? I didn't want to…" He trailed off and made an expression of uncertainty. "I dunno…"

"Start a committed relationship with her while you were so busy?" Cruz finished.

"Yeah, sort of," McQueen replied. "I'd feel bad about calling her my wife and have to leave her all the time for racing."

"But she goes to your races all the time," Cruz reminded.

"Yeah, I know," McQueen said, and Cruz could tell he was grateful for it. "It's just that, sometimes I feel bad for dragging her with me all the time."

Cruz waved him off. "Oh, I'm sure she doesn't mind  _at all_."

McQueen brightened a bit. "Yeah, I bet you're right…" His features dimmed again. "It's more  _me_  than her, really." He wheeled around to admire his girlfriend in the distance. She was chatting casually with Flo. She smiled at something Flo said and McQueen mirrored this response. It was evident from this simple interaction alone that the two were really a perfect pair.

"For some reason..." McQueen frowned, considering his words thoughtfully. "Marriage feels like… I don't know, the beginning of the end of my racing career…"

Cruz reacted as if this statement was blasphemous. "What do you mean?"

McQueen's anxieties started pouring out all at once. "You know what I mean! Once you get married you start talking about having kids and settling down, and soon, you retire for  _real_ , and I don't even know if I  _want_  kids!" He noticed his own agitated state and attempted to regain his composure.

Cruz took this into consideration. "You're… nervous about that new chapter of your life."

McQueen seemed to agree with this notion. "I guess…I mean, there's been all these changes that have been happening recently with my racing career…"

Cruz suddenly appeared apprehensive at the mention of this. She sneaked a look at her own Dinoco livery. "You don't…regret it, do you?"

"What? Of course not!" McQueen replied. "Besides, I'm just out for this one season. I'll  _always_  keep racing."

Cruz was relieved, although it seemed that the two racers were not thinking about the same thing. "Well! That's good to hear!"

The duo sat in silence for a moment, taking some time to collect their thoughts. Night had completely fallen over Radiator Springs, and the lights from the various facilities bathed the area in a comforting glow. The rest of the group continued to mingle near the café.

"Either way," Cruz added. "I think it's about time we all started looking at our futures. It's like you said—things are changing!"

McQueen gave a short laugh, although it was riddled with unease. "Tell me about it."

Cruz turned to her crew chief. "You should probably try talking to Miss Sally about your future with her.  _I know_  she'll understand."

Lightning smiled and gazed off at Sally warmly. "Yeah… she will…" He maintained his loving stare a moment longer before redirecting his attention at Cruz. He gave her a playful jab.

"You know, this was a good talk. You should be a therapist or something. Maybe even a  _trainer_."

"Oh, stop."

* * *

After a few more hours of idle chat, as well as a couple drinks, the town decided to call it a night. Cruz rolled back to her cone with heavy lids, where she had been residing all this time. Her family, too, had received their own cones to stay in for the duration of their visit. Radiator Springs was quiet once more, as every inhabitant slept within their homes. But for some, not without mixed sentiments towards their respective futures.

Cruz slumbered happily in Cone #2, which was littered with her own personal effects. There was the Piston Cup Racing Series poster pinned to the wall, a photo of her aunt and cousins on a desk, and her Thunder Hollow trophy beside it, among other miscellaneous items. While all these belongings were worthy of recognition, one object in particular stood out from the rest. On her bed stand, beside the cone-themed alarm clock, stood a gold-accented photo frame. The photo displayed a bright yellow sports coupé that quite resembled Cruz herself in many aspects. The slightly antiquated model had warm brown eyes and a big, happy grin. She donned a neon pink band around her cab and tacky purple fender warmers that clashed with her outfit. She was dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't TOO boring. Don't worry—things should start to pick up after this. After the next chapter, stuff should start building up to the main conflict of the story. I just needed to get some groundwork done first.
> 
> I took a lot of liberty with describing the backstories of some of these characters, such as Cruz and her family. I also added in a little something about Lightning's past. Hopefully they all made sense and weren't TOO off course (Heh. Get it?)
> 
> Also, can you tell that dialogue is one of my weak suits? Diction, especially. A lot of the Radiator Springs folks have accents (well, they technically ALL do) and distinct ways of speaking—e.g. Mater. I hope I didn't mess them up too bad. Speaking of Mater, I hope he wasn't too cringey or annoying. I honestly don't mind him, but I don't care to have him in the story any longer than I have to either. Also, I couldn't decide whether or not to make "Cars 2" canon in this story. So you can take that part about "Sir Tow Mater" as you will, ha ha.
> 
> I wasn't really sure what kind of cars to make Cruz's family. I was thinking maybe an '85 Audi coupé for her mother or something. I dunno. I just think of her family as being a mixture of sports coupés and more practical, mid-sized cars. I might change my mind later. [EDIT: Instead, a 2005 Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged]
> 
> On a minor note, I hope my Spanish in this chapter is accurate and all. It's been awhile since I studied it in high school.


	5. Touched a Nerve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking (maybe): Where are the Cruz and Storm interactions? Well, they'll start more after a certain… instigating point… After this chapter, things will start delving into the main conflict of the story.

It was a late Friday afternoon, and Storm was at the IGNTR Racing Center, doing what he could be found almost every waking second of the day doing—racing. He was practicing on the simulator like he was  _manufactured_  on it. Ray had tried—and failed—to convince him to practice on the Los Angeles International Speedway for a change.

"It's too dirty," Storm had complained, keeping his eyes trained on the simulator screen. "I'd prefer it if I raced on real tracks as  _little_  as possible."

So his crew chief gave up on trying to get him out into the sun for the day. Luckily, something else came up, that, while not exactly related, was better than having him glued to the simulator 24/7. He had heard from a co-worker, from a friend, from another friend, that a certain familiar face had shown up around town.

"Hey, guess what?" Ray asked as he rolled up beside Storm on the sim. "Treadless and some of the old trainees are at the local arcade. You know—the one we found you at?"

"Treadless?" Storm sneered. "As in  _Timid_  Treadless?"

Ray wasn't impressed. " _Tim_  Treadless. But yes."

Storm squinted at the monitor. "And you're telling me this because…?"

Ray sighed. "Look, I just thought it'd be nice for you to…make friends with him or something."

Storm looked as if he heard Ray tell him to dive into shark-infested waters. "Uhh, in case you forgot, Treadless and I didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

Ray was steadfast. "I remember. Despite racing in the same series, I've never seen you two interact."

The sleek gray racer snorted. "That's because ol' Treadless is always at the back."

Ray persisted with his case. "Look, you're both very talented, determined racers. I'm sure you'll get along."

Storm jerked back in confusion. "Why do you care if I talk to him or not?"

Ray hoped it wouldn't have to come to this. "Because you don't talk to  _any_  of the other racers. Or anyone besides me, Gale, and the crew."

Storm kept a neutral front, but Ray could tell that what he said bothered him.

"So?" Storm said as disinterestedly as he could, but his voice came out a little quieter than usual.

"Sooo…" Ray waited for Storm to catch his drift, but Storm wouldn't budge. Ray decided to cut to the chase. "You need  _friends_ , Jackson."

Storm furrowed his lids. His speed on the simulator dropped to 210, and he swerved too far to the inside. "Says  _who_?"

His crew chief adopted a slightly more sympathetic tone. "Says  _me_. Besides, you  _know_  Treadless and the others. So half the work is done already."

This did nothing to assure Storm. "More like twice the work." He only grew more agitated. "What, you think they'll just welcome me back to the team with open fenders?"

Ray shrugged. "Don't know until you try."

Storm groaned softly to himself. He had barely glanced over at Ray for the length of the conversation.

"Come on." Ray tried being more supportive. "At the very least, try making amends with him. I'm not asking for much. Just for you to get out every once in awhile."

The racecar groaned, except this time more audibly. "What's with you people wanting me to make friends with my enemies?" He was silent for a moment, mulling over which decision to make. Finally, he caved.

"Fine! Fine. I'll check it out for a bit." He glanced sullenly off to the side.

Ray was content. "Good. Just… don't let it turn out like that one time you were on the simulator…"

Storm started at the reference to the humiliating event. If cars could blush, he was definitely doing it at the moment.

"Please." He acted as if he was reflecting on childish behavior from tens of years ago. "I'm  _past_  that."

"Are you? You sure didn't seem like that at the Florida 500." Ray couldn't resist.

Storm glared with the wrath of a thousand daggers at his crew chief. Ray had to admit—he did look a little intimidating.

"Okay! Okay!" Ray backed away from the fuming vehicle. "Too far… Looks like I touched a nerve."

* * *

The instant Storm rolled through the doors of the old racing arcade a flood of memories washed over him. The flashing lights, the sound of revving engines, the loud music and chatter—it was like he never left.

Storm cruised through the arcade, scanning the the crowds of vehicles in search of one racer in particular. He had silently prayed that he would avoid the detection of fans for at least a little while, and luckily, that was the case. All of the patrons were too occupied with playing  _Super Corsa 3_ , or watching people play it, to initially take notice of him. Additionally, Storm had developed a skill of staying under the radar when he was out in public.

After a good five minutes of searching, Storm finally managed to pick out his former team captain by a game console near the rear of the joint. Evidently, Treadless had been keen to keep a low profile as well, considering he was a Piston Cup racer too.

Storm took a deep breath, taking some time to channel as much confidence and smugness as he could. He waited until he felt his front relax into a façade of aloofness before approaching his old training rival.

The black and orange Nitroade racer was accompanied by what looked like some former trainees, although Storm couldn't be sure. He didn't pay much attention to his fellow teammates back during his training days.

The number 28 racer glanced over at Storm as he grew near. His face immediately fell into an expression of discontent. He looked as if he had tasted something bad.

"Well look who it is," Treadless announced, his front contorting into a frown, "if it isn't Mr. Hotshot Champion himself."

"Treadless," Storm greeted curtly, "haven't seen you in awhile. How's the view from the back of the track?"

Treadless suddenly looked as if he had just lost a day's worth of sleep. "What do you want, Storm? Did you just come all the way here to gloat?"

"Nah, I can do that any time," Storm said casually, "I just wanted to see if you were up for a little race. The good old-fashioned way. On the game console."

Treadless make a clicking noise with his mouth. "I don't know, Storm. Last time that happened you nearly blew a gasket."

His friends chuckled. Storm narrowed his eyes. So these people  _were_ from the racing complex after all. Unless Treadless had decided to tell everyone he knew about his freak-out incident, which caused a rush of coolant to flow through Storm's burning engine at the thought of it.

"That was a long time ago," Storm retorted, while still maintaining his cool composure. "Besides, as the 2016 champion of the Piston Cup Series, I think it shouldn't be so hard to beat you now."

A look of antipathy flickered through Treadless' eyes for a second before he replied, "Well…alright. But promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Promise that you won't act like your normal cocky self." Treadless studied Storm closely to try and gauge whether this would be possible.

"I dunno, Treadless," Storm drawled. "Sounds pretty tough."

Treadless was equally as sardonic. "It's just for the night. Shouldn't be too hard for a champ like you."

Storm mused over this for a moment. "Fine. Whatever you say."

"Alright, just let me have this quick race with my friend." Treadless turned and drove onto one of the stations, with another car on the one next to his.

Storm watched in unimpressed silence as the two raced each other. After a while, he started closing his eyes to catch a quick nap when he suddenly noticed Treadless pull a clumsy maneuver. He veered too close to the wall on one of the turns, almost skimming it.

Storm gave a short laugh. "Ha! That was—"

One of Treadless' friends shot him a warning glare. Storm remembered his promise.

"—fine." Storm sniffed and glanced off to the side.

The race ended with Treadless as the victor. He smiled in pride as he rolled off the console. One of his friends gave him a friendly tire bump. Treadless looked to Storm.

"Alright, let's do this." His eyes glowed with competition. Storm met him with an equally challenging gaze.

"You're on."

The two climbed onto the gaming consoles. Storm felt one of his pistons skip a pump when he realized how long it had been since he played SC3. For a fraction of a second, he felt uncertain about his ability to win, which to Storm was more terrifying than death itself. But as soon as the green flag waved, Storm's muscle memory kicked into gear almost immediately. As soon as the flicker of doubt had arrived, it had gone.

Storm had to admit—Treadless had appeared to had gotten better at the game since he became a Piston Cup racer. He was nowhere as near as talented as Storm, but he kept up with him enough to be an adequate competitor. Even so, Storm's apprehension had dispelled completely. Treadless was no threat to him.

A crowd had begun to form around the two Piston Cup racers. Storm heard some onlookers call out his name, as well as Treadless'. At first, Storm thought that he would react badly to the fact that he was recognized  _yet again_ in public. But then he remembered where he was. This was the racing arcade. The cars crowding around him were his fans, just like the fans from back during his gaming days. Maybe some of them were even from back then as well. It certainly  _was_ like he never left. A rush of nostalgia washed over him. He cringed inwardly at this reaction. Storm was  _never_  the sentimental type.

It wasn't long before Storm pulled another astonishing win. This was nothing new, but Storm still felt a thrill of pleasure as he heard people in the crowd cheer and call out his name. Treadless' friends groaned softly at his defeat. He hadn't finished a lap behind, but he wasn't very close behind Storm either.

The two racers rolled off their respective consoles. Treadless was upset, but it seemed he was more disappointed in himself than anything.

Storm gave him a conceited smirk. "Looks like you're just as bad in the game as you are in the real thing." Storm felt a mental reprimand poke his in the back of his mind. Wasn't he supposed to be something else  _besides_ cocky tonight?

Treadless glared at Storm. "Hey! I thought we had a deal!" Yup, that's what he was forgetting.

Storm shrugged, his lids halfway closed. "Night's practically over anyway." It was only 8 o'clock.

The black and orange race car looked defeated, in more ways than one. "Whatever. You win. Again. You happy?"

Storm smiled. "Pretty."

Treadless turned to his friends. "Let's go, guys." The sullen racer didn't bother giving Storm another glance. He starting driving away, slowing briefly to get past some of his fans in the crowd before he suddenly stopped altogether. It looked as if the racer was mulling over something he had been wanting to do for a long time. Treadless reversed and returned to where Storm was still parked.

"I hope it's worth it," Treadless said suddenly as he came near Storm.

Storm blinked. "What?"

Treadless hesitated for a second, before forming a resolute expression. "I hope it's worth it to be a grade-A jackass winner all the time. Even if it means having no friends and everyone hating you."

Storm felt a blow to his insides, as if his engine block had suddenly cracked under the express purpose of someone trying to sabotage him. He could do nothing to stop the shock from flashing across his face. Storm couldn't help it. The racer had caught him off-guard.

Storm gave a short laugh in response to the biting remark, although he was 100% sure his features betrayed a clear discomfort. "Ha! What are you—?"

But Treadless had said what he needed to say. He gave Storm one last disapproving look before he headed off with his friends for good. Storm watched him go in stunned silence for a moment before he recollected himself.

"It's feels great by the way!" Storm called after him, but Treadless' departing form was almost completely gone. "Real… real great."

"Are you Jackson Storm?" A young, squeaky-voiced fan popped up from beside him.

"Storm! Can I get an autograph?"

"Oh my god, I can't believe I get to meet the  _real_ Jackson Storm!"

"Storm, I love you!"

The crowd of fans began to devour the Piston Cup racer like a pack of wolves. This hectic commotion attracted the attention of the security guards at the front, who made their way towards the mess. Storm felt himself grow overwhelmed at the waves of vehicles that surrounded and trapped him every which way. But he couldn't figure out why. All these people were his fans. All these people thought he was great. All these people  _loved him_.

But the more and more they started appearing around him, the more and more Jackson felt like he was the only person in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, how I love to make my characters suffer. This is probably my favorite chapter yet (but there's still a lot more fun down the road…) In case you didn't know, Treadless and Storm's relationship is based off of Storm Chasing.They're sort of rivals. Mostly because of Storm. Of course. Also, in case you haven't read the book, Storm has a massive temper tantrum when he loses against Treadless on the simulator, back when he was training. That is what the "incident" is referring to. It was pretty freaking adorable. It was what convinced me that Storm is still a spoiled little brat deep down inside. That and when he freaks out during the final race in the movie. Storm has anger issues, I think.
> 
> Poor Storm, though. I find it kind of hilarious how hard it is for him to act nice. He could hardly even contain his sass for a second. Ray is gonna be so disappointed in him.
> 
> Man, Storm is so much fun to write. Of course, in the canon universe, Storm could just be a jerk, plain and simple. But I like to imagine he is more complex than that. Also, I feel like Ray's relationship with Storm, in both the origin book and my own story, is kind of interesting. He feels like a very "tough-love" kind of guy, and though he doesn't show it too often, it seems that he truly cares for Storm. So there's that.


	6. A Recurring Storm

"Nervous? I'm not nervous. Okay… maybe I am. I just have so much to live up to after all. They're all expecting me to beat him again. But what if I can't? What if it really  _was_  a fluke? No… I can't think like that… I have to use that anxiety as fuel to psyche me up! I'm nervous. I can use that! Maybe it'll help me to go faster! Hmm… what was it that Mr. McQueen says before every race? Speed… I am speed…"

"Ha ha, very funny."

Cruz's lids flew open. Light flooded her heretofore darkened vision. She found her crew chief waiting for her down by the ramp of her open trailer.  _Her_ trailer. It was like she was a Hollywood movie star or something.

Cruz grinned sheepishly at McQueen. "What? You've got a pretty good pep talk."

The blue race car chuckled. "Yeah, but it's  _my_ pep talk. You've gotta come up with your own."

Cruz stuck out her bottom lip and screwed up her eyes in thought. "Hmm… How about… The fastest race car, Cruz. Blink for a second, you lose!"

McQueen considered this. "Not bad. Did it have to rhyme, though?"

Cruz laughed, prompting McQueen to do the same. "Okay, okay. So my pep talk needs some work. That can wait. I have a race to win!"

McQueen was pleasantly surprised. "Atta girl!" He swung aside, gesturing for her to follow. "Let's go, then! It's starting pretty soon!"

Cruz plastered on a fearless front and forsook the quiet, dark comfort of her trailer in exchange for the loud, bright atmosphere of the Copper Canyon Speedway.

* * *

" _It was just a fluke. It was like Ray said: even the best racers lose a race every once in awhile. Except for me—I lose once in a blue moon. Yeah, I've got this in the bag… probably."_

"You ready, Jackson?"

"Always." Storm pressed the ramp switch of his trailer, but not before taking a deep breath to compose himself. Not because he was nervous or anything. No, it was just that Storm was exhausted from being around other people and he needed to prepare himself. After all, he was an introvert, believe it or not. So it wasn't that he was  _nervous_. Storm was  _definitely_ not the nervous type.

Shafts of light invaded his dark, private shelter as the ramp lowered to the ground. Storm recalled one time when Ray tried entering his beloved trailer. " _Chrysler! How do you see in this thing? It's pitch-black!"_  But that was how Storm liked it. It was black… like his soul…

Storm squinted as he cruised down the ramp of his trailer into the bright, noisy air of the speedway. His hauler, Gale, was outside to meet him. She tried in vain to suppress a giggle when she caught Storm's aversive reaction to the fresh air. Luckily, Storm was too distracted by all the hustle and bustle of vehicles by the garages to notice.

"How you feeling, Jackson?" Gale asked the self-assured race car as he approached.

"I'm feeling like I'm gonna win this," he told her, without skipping a beat. He reclined into a laid-back position, his eyes half-lidded as they almost always were.

Gale studied the racer, watching for any signs of uncertainty, but she was well-aware that Storm was a master at hiding his true emotions. "Oh! I just thought, maybe, because of the last race, you might be a little…"

"—nervous?" Storm finished sharply, his eyes darting up to meet her's. Gale knew she shouldn't have provoked him. But maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, because as soon as she blinked, Storm's face had repositioned itself into its normal, cavalier façade. "Please. As if that  _trainer_ could make me nervous."

Gale decided that it was best to stop there. "Okay. Just wanted to make sure you were doing alright." She gave him an encouraging smile. "You'll do great out there, Jackson. I know it."

The young racer diverted his gaze to the ground. Gale knew Storm well enough to sense that he appreciated her kind words. But he was too macho to show it. "Thanks, Gale," he said as casually as he could, but he still couldn't meet her eyes. Gale smiled. It was moments like these that reminded her why she cared for the boy. She was one of the few people that had the privilege of seeing Storm like this—as a racer who still had the capacity to feel humble every once in awhile. As a young man who was just kind of lost in the world, and needed a gentle push in the right direction (or in this case, maybe an out-of-the-world shove).

Gale tossed a glance behind her. "By the way, I tried to keep those reporters at bay. They all wanted to talk to you about last week's race. I told them—"

"Let me at 'em," Storm interrupted, raising himself up on his shocks. He flashed a cocky grin. "I'll be happy to reassure them of today's winner."

Gale watched him for a moment, and then sighed. "Well, alright then." She swung around to head back into the lot. "I'll see you after the race."

Gale's departure was like the destruction of a dam holding back a typhoon. Dozens of journalists started flooding to Storm's trailer. Cars stuck microphones up in his grill. They had a shouting-match to see who could get him to answer their question first. Camera bulbs flashed in his face. He might have cringed from the light, much like he did when he first started out, but Storm had grown accustomed to the brightness. After all, it was part of the job. Storm inhaled deeply and tried on his best half-smile that told everyone, "Yeah, I'm cool. Nothing bothers me." He exhaled. "Okay… time for business…"

* * *

"Welcome, racing fans, to the second race of the season at Copper Canyon Speedway!" Bob Cutlass' voice boomed over the racetrack. All of the contestants were currently finishing up the pace lap, mere seconds away from the start of the race.

"Who are you placing your bets on in this race, Darrell?" Bob asked his fellow commentator from their seats up in the press box. "You think Ramirez will be able to pull off another win?"

Darrell laughed. "Are you kidding? With that flip she did last week? Only a  _real_  pro racer would ever do something so  _gutsy_!"

Bob raised his lids, impressed. "You may be right, Darrell." He peered down at the lineup. "Storm has  _got_  to be feeling the heat right about now."

Back down on the pavement, Cruz was having a bit of an internal dilemma. Much to her chagrin, she occupied the pole position of the pack. Now, this would have been  _more_  than acceptable to her in any other circumstance, except for that this time, a certain devilish grey race car was directly behind her.

Luckily, the Piston Cup gods must have been smiling down on her that day, because for whatever reason, Storm didn't initiate any contact with her. The most he did was throw her a steady glare whenever she looked back at him, but that was the extent of their interactions. McQueen took this as a blessing.

"Hey, this means that he won't be messing with you anymore," he told her over the headset. "This is great!"

"Yeah…" Despite this, Cruz felt as if Storm's silence contributed  _more_ to her anxiety, than reduced it.

McQueen caught this doleful note. "C'mon. You've beaten Storm before, Cruz—you can do it again."

Cruz examined the moving track beneath her. "Yeah, but Storm has a  _year_ of experience on him, while I've only raced once before. What if I—"

"—which makes it all the more incredible that you beat him on your first try!" her crew chief corrected.

A small smile found its way onto the Dinoco racer's visage. "Yeah… I guess."

"And look—all these people believe in you too!"

Cruz beheld the waves of racing fans in the stands. She could discern a few posters that read out her name, as well as sounds of support from many automobiles. "Cruz Ramirez!" a certain young, newly yellow-painted fan called out at the top of her lungs. Cruz's smile stretched even wider, and her engine grew warm. She glanced over at the pits and caught a brief glimpse of her crew chief. Though it was hard to see his expression from such a distance, she knew he was smiling as well.

"What do you say—are you gonna win this race or what?" he said, and Cruz could hear the grin in his voice.

Cruz peered out at the track ahead of her. Nobody in front of her—and she was going to keep it that way.

"Oh, yeah!" she replied, dialing up the rich, powerful tones of her engine.

A flash of green waved in the distance. This was it. The pace car slipped away onto pit road.

"Boogity boogity boogity—let's go racing, boys!... and Cruz!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Gale was unwinding by the garages in the infield where she was to wait for Storm's return after the race. She was reading a magazine—after all, she was going to be there for a while. Sure, she could join the other haulers in the lounge, or come out to watch her charge race, but in the busy, hectic life of being Jackson Storm's hauler, Gale appreciated moments of rest like these.

A large, red object moved out of her peripheral vision. She peeked up from over the top of her reading material. It was Mack, Lightning McQueen's hauler, who was currently serving as Cruz Ramirez's hauler for the season. How did she know this? Well, it was hard  _not_  to know who the great Lightning McQueen's transporter was.

The red semi's eyes were scanning the lot; he was obviously in search of something. His big green eyes landed on Gale's solitary form.

"Hey there, Miss!" he greeted amiably. "Have you seen a lug wrench around here?"

Gale shook her hood. "No—is it missing?"

Mack grinned sheepishly. "Oh yeah. I was just borrowing it from my racer—well, my  _new_  racer—so I could tighten one of my lug nuts, and it seems to have gotten away from me somehow."

The dark eighteen-wheeler frowned. "Well, can't you just get a new one? It's not important, is it?"

Mack's eyes widened as if she had just asked him to commit treason. "Not  _important_? My racers  _trust_  me to keep things afloat! How would I ever be able to tell them that I  _lost_  something?"

Gale lifted her lids, and then broke out into a smile. "You're awfully loyal, aren't you?"

Mack returned her friendly expression. "Well yeah, I'd just about do anything for the little buggers."

Gale chuckled, thinking back on Storm. "Yeah, I know what you mean…"

Mack eyed her for a moment, and then rolled in closer to her. "Name's Mack by the way. Like mac 'n cheese."

Gale maintained her grin. "Gale. Like the wind."

Mack's eyes drifted over to her trailer. "Oh hey, you're that Storm kid's hauler!"

"Yep," Gale replied, and she seemed to hold some pride in that position.

"How's that working out for you?" he asked, and in a way that wasn't disparaging.

Gale laughed. "Oh, it's a ride, that's for sure. But you can't help by love 'em… you know?"

Mack's eyes lighted up with understanding. He settled in next to her. "Ohh, I know what you mean. I mean, Lightning's great and all, but he sure was a lot to handle back when he was a rookie." He shook his hood affectionately. "Kids—whatcha gonna do, am I right?"

Gale's smile stretched further across her front. "Oh, I think I know  _exactly_  what you mean."

* * *

495 laps in and Cruz was still riding Storm's tailwind. Yes, she was stuck behind him yet again. She managed to lead for 20 laps or so before Storm rode in, sleek and smooth as ever, to steal the first position. It was the one thing she couldn't change—no matter what, Storm still had the higher top speed.

After that point, it was a constant back and forth to see who could stay at the forefront the longest. Funnily enough, every time Cruz tried to pass Storm, he would actually  _let_  her. During one such instance, the number 20 started deviating closer to Cruz as she moved up beside him, and for a split second, she felt her pistons skip a beat. But Storm seemed to suddenly think better of it, and he retreated, allowing Cruz to glide forward without the fear of him suddenly slamming into her again. McQueen found this highly amusing.

"Ha!" Cruz heard his satisfied tone over the headset. "That's right, Storm. You better back off!"

"Looks like Storm's learned his lesson from the last race," Bob Cutlass commented as he and Darrell witnessed this transaction.

Darrell chuckled. "Yeah, Bob. Storm'll have to come up with some new tactics if he's gonna maintain a good record this season."

This prediction seemed to ring true, for Storm regained the pole after another 20 laps. Cruz made an effort to block Storm from passing her, but Storm had experience on his side. He found an opening and swiftly took it, and Cruz was helpless to stop him from speeding past her on the outside. After all, as aggressive a racer as she was, Cruz wasn't about to pull the same maneuver on him that he used on her.

The sky was dark, and a handful of laps were remaining of the race. Cruz started to feel panic settle over her.

"Mr. McQueen," she said, anxiety clear in her voice. "We're almost on the final lap. What do I do?"

McQueen was quiet for a moment, pondering the options. "On the last lap, wait for an opening. After you come out of turn three, slam the door on him."

Cruz ruminated on this, but didn't seem convinced. "Uhh… so basically do what Storm did to you on this very track?"

McQueen snorted. "Oh, right. How could I forget?"

Cruz focused on the glossy grey bumper in front of her (the diva, by some act of God, managed to keep himself relatively clean, despite the fact that he had been racing for a few hours now). The shiny gold Piston Cup decal seemed to mock her. Cruz was acutely aware of the fact that her engine was working to its limit, and she was thoroughly worn out. She didn't know if she had it in her to power through on the final stretch. From what she knew of Storm, he had stamina to spare.

"What if I can't do it, Mr. McQueen?" she asked her crew chief, her question sounding small and distant to her own hearing.

"You  _can_ , Cruz," he stated, and it was as if he didn't have a doubt in the world. "You overtook me all the time when we were practicing."

"Yeah, but you're slower than Storm." Cruz bit her tongue, realizing just how unintentionally insulting that sounded. "Sorry! You know what I mean."

McQueen laughed. "Yeah, I'm slower. I'll own up to it. And you are too, Cruz. But you can still get faster. Just the other day, you hit 211!"

Cruz smiled. It was true.

"So, I don't know what this whole 'I can't' business means. Because all I've ever seen you do is… 'I can'..."

There was a long silence on his end. Cruz burst out laughing, and for a second, she forgot she was on a Piston Cup racetrack. At that moment, it seemed that they were back at Willy's Butte, running another practice lap in the wee hours of the morning. McQueen mirrored her amused reaction.

"Maybe I should leave the motivating stuff to you," he said after they've had a brief chuckle.

Cruz grinned. "Nah, that'll do the trick." The white flag bore its urgent color against the sable sky. She sunk down to the asphalt, its burnt rubber smell filling her senses. Tire marbles fluttered against her frame. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, staring down Storm's rear like it was the bane of her existence. "Let's do this."

Cruz zoomed into the final lap. She felt the track beneath her rise and fall in steady action. Before she knew it, she had flown through two turns. As she exited turn three, her engine started pumping ten times faster than it was before. The sound of her roaring engine and 42 others was deafening. Cruz observed Storm's unaffected figure carefully to catch the slightest deviation from his line, which would be quite unlikely to happen, considering Storm's innate ability to hold the the dang thing.

Cruz started in remembrance of the last race and how she managed to surpass Storm's speed. She pulled up close behind Storm and start drafting him, using the only method she knew of to get him off his line. Luckily, it worked. Storm drifted a little to the inside. Cruz didn't hesitate. They were coming up to the finish lane—and  _fast_. Cruz poured all her energy into her mechanical parts at once. Never mind the fact that her temperature was through the roof and that her suspension was aching. She  _had_ to make this.

Cruz was slowly but surely moving up beside Storm on the inside. Unfortunately, Storm was not ignorant this fact, and by some miracle, managed to push himself even faster than he was already going as well. Cruz felt her engine plummet beneath her hood. With Storm picking up speed like this, she wouldn't be able to catch up with him. They were nose-to-nose, mere meters away from the finish. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear seeing the possible outcome. She…

"Anddd it's Jackson Storm for the win!" Bob Cutlass' voice echoed across the stadium, sounding like a death knell for Cruz.

"Ramirez put up a great fight, though," Darrell added. "I mean, look at the playback! She was barely a foot behind him!"

"Well, you can't win them all, can you? Especially considering that she's only a rookie. The number 51 still has a lot to learn…"

The words of the announcers faded from her hearing. The rest of the world vanished from existence. Cruz was in a state of shock. It was her muscle memory alone that prevented her from simply crashing into a wall—she was that disoriented.

She… lost?

One of her fellow racers, Daniel Swervez, rode up next to her. "Hey, Cruz! Nice job, you really had him worried there for a second."

Some of the other next-gens she was familiar with drove up to meet her as well. "Not bad, Ramirez. You'll get 'em next time!"

Their compliments sounded hollow and a million miles away to her. Who was that? Who just spoke to her? What did it matter? She still lost…

Cruz dreaded to see the reactions of the fans in the stands, but she had to look anyway—it was like the irresistible urge to gawk at a car crash. She peeked up reluctantly. Some people were still cheering as loud as they were before the race, but she couldn't be sure if it was for  _her_ or Storm. Others, however, seemed more crestfallen. Cruz somehow detected Maddy McGear among the thousands of viewers and her melancholy expression made Cruz want to burst into tears on the spot.  _Those_  were the faces that stuck with her.

Cruz would have given all the racing money in the world not to confront her crew chief, but she knew it was inevitable. She petered over to where he and her pit crew— _their_  pit crew—were waiting. She kept her eyes trained on the ground—she couldn't bear to see his disappointed expression. Not him—not the car that gave her her big break. Not the racer that gave up what he loved so that she,  _she_ could race. And this is what she could accomplish with that opportunity.

"Cruz!" She heard him call as she grew near. He didn't  _sound_ mad.

She squinted up the way she would when she watched horror movies and was afraid to view what was on the screen. He was smiling.

"Great job!" he told her, and he seemed genuine enough.

"But… but…" Cruz lost the ability to speak.

"You lost?" McQueen finished for her. He laughed and shook his hood. "Don't worry about it, Cruz.  _Everybody_ loses races. Even me."

Cruz's features were still disheartened. "Yeah, but they were all expecting me to win! After last week's race! I mean—I mean... they must all think I'm a  _joke_!" Cruz could tell that she was becoming increasingly unraveled, but she felt helpless to stop herself. Luckily, McQueen was there to keep her hood on straight.

"It's like you said, Cruz. Storm has more experience." Despite this, he gave her a supportive look. Cruz scrutinized her crew chief for the slightest betrayal of sadness or disappointment, but she failed to find it. If anything, he seemed more concerned for her sake. "But you'll get that experience, and before long, you'll be winning all those races— _trust me_."

Cruz tried her best to believe in McQueen's words, but she was having quite the challenge. "I guess…"

"Besides, you still came in pretty close!" He smiled to himself, seemingly satisfied with the result. "Storm was ready this time, alright. It's just a matter of experience—you'll get there! You've proven yourself, even today!"

This seemed to lift her spirits a bit. "Yeah…" Cruz offered him a half-hearted smile.

McQueen waved a tire in his direction. His countenance had sobered a bit, and he had started to bring out his sympathetic side. "C'mon. Let's get you back to Flo's so we can celebrate."

Cruz smiled, appreciative of her crew chief's efforts to cheer her up. It was evident from his positive response that she was still welcome on the team. Her body relaxed. "Alright…" She turned and noticed a few of her racing buddies huddled together near victory lane. She faced McQueen. "I'll be there in a sec—I just wanna say hi to the others!"

McQueen smiled, reminded of his own racing friends. "Oh, yeah, of course!"

Cruz wheeled back around, casting a parting glance at him as she left. "I'll see you later!"

"See you!"

Cruz rolled up to where Daniel Swervez, Bubba Wheelhouse, Chase Racelott, and Ryan "Inside" Laney were chatting over the recent race.

"Hey, guys!" she greeted when she arrived, careful to not reveal any signs of sorrow.

"'Sup Cruz." Danny was quick to meet her. The two of them had gotten on really well over the past week alone.

The other Next-Gen racers returned her cheerful sentiments.

"Not bad, Cruz," Bubba told her, commenting on her finish.

"Nice race," Ryan added amiably.

"Man, you really had Storm going there!" Chase was greatly entertained. "I think he's a little scared of you!"

Cruz rolled her eyes, but was flattered nonetheless. "Oh, psh. He's not scared. He's just being more careful."

Danny gave Cruz a sly look. "Hey, either way, he knows not to mess with you now."

Cruz smiled, grateful for her friends' support. "I guess so."

Speak of the devil himself, she caught sight of the very racer in question coming down off the winner's podium near them. Cruz followed his egotistical form for a moment—that ebony outline that she had really begun to dislike. Even so, Cruz couldn't bring herself to hate him completely. After all, this time, he hadn't tried attacking her on the race track the way he did at Florida International. Maybe there was still a chance...

She flagged down Storm as he cruised down from the podium and toward the garages where the trailers were being kept.

"Hey, Storm," she called, cringing inwardly at how timid her voice sounded. Storm's eyes rolled over to Cruz's—grey, dull, and unimpressed as ever. It was no wonder they called him Storm—his dismal gaze alone brought images of a lonely precipice by the sea. Cruz realized that this was their first interaction since their bad parting a week ago. For whatever reason, Storm had decided to keep their intercourse limited to steely looks on the race track that day.

"Nice win," she said, her expression more subdued than last time. Hopefully he would take her more seriously.

But no. Much to Cruz's disappointment (and expectation), Storm's features stretched into that wretched sneer. "Yeah. Looks like you're more of a one-hit wonder than a  _real_ racer, after all." He glided off without another word.

Cruz watched his departing figure grow smaller and smaller. She was upset to realize that Storm's taunting words still had such an impression on her. What more did she expect from him, anyway?

* * *

"And apparently he set off the sprinklers in the facility, soaking  _everything_!"

A pair of hearty chuckles came from behind Storm's trailer. Storm's oil boiled at the overheard statement, which he knew to be spoken by his hauler. Was she talking about what he  _thought_ she was talking about? He narrowed his eyes, wheeling around the trailer to where the sounds were being broadcasted, ready for a good excuse.

But what he witnessed was the  _last_ thing he expected. He discovered Gale and another semi settled together, having an animated conversation— _clearly_  enjoying themselves. In any other circumstance, Storm could give less of a care, but the truck she was speaking with was none other than his old rival's hauler!

"You're—!" He glowered up at the red big rig with a mixture of shock and contempt.

Both Mack and Gale started in surprise at Storm's sudden arrival with looks of guilt crossing their fronts. They resembled a couple of teenagers caught making out behind the bleachers.

"Jackson!" Gale tittered nervously. "How was the race?"

Storm threw Gale a brooding glance. "Fine. I won." He returned his attention to Mack, sizing him up like he was a piece of rusty metal. "You're Lightning McQueen's hauler," he stated as if it was the worst thing in the world to be.

Mack, of course, had the exact opposite reaction. He puffed up in pride. "Yessir! Have been for over ten years! Of course, this season, I'm Cruz Ramirez's hauler too!"

This caused a jolt of dread to course through Storm's body. "Well that's just  _peachy_." He rolled his eyes so far back they almost disappeared. He jerked his hood at Gale.

"Hitch up. We're leaving." Storm opened his trailer and backed up onto the ramp without another look at either of the two eighteen-wheelers. Once inside, he slammed the ramp switch like an angsty teen, but the movement didn't create the effect he desired. Instead, the door slowly and gently clicked shut.

The two newly acquainted friends stared at the dark, indigo-tinged "S" symbol on the back of his trailer door, indicative of the edgy racer's very spirit. Mack chuckled and glanced over at Gale. "So, that's your racer, huh?"

Gale sighed and shook her hood. "Trust me—if this is him on a good day, then you would  _hate_ to see him on a bad one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay… so this is gonna sound bad… but races are kind of boring to write. I guess they're just more interesting to watch than to read about. Even so, it's so crushing to write Cruz losing. I feel that it's pretty realistic though, considering the fact that she's still a newbie. I thought that part of the reason why Storm lost to her in the first race is because she had the element of surprise. This time, however, he is ready. Anyway, I should really write some more Gale and Jackson scenes. I feel like she really brings out the best in him.
> 
> I sort of got the idea of shipping Mack and Gale from Tumblr. Once the idea was introduced to me, it just seemed so perfect! So, it'll be fun to see how that turns out. Also, it infuriates Storm, which is simply delightful. Speaking of Storm, the way I saw his character, he only pays attention to other racers when he deems them a threat (hence, the whole 'he's in my head' scene in the movie). This is why, in this chapter, he doesn't really talk to Cruz. He wants to give the appearance that he doesn't care.
> 
> I hope my depictions of the Next-Gen racers are alright! I'm sort of making them a mixture of their real-life counterparts and their characters (as small as they were) in the movie. For the most part, though, I'm making them my own (so they aren't too much based on the real NASCAR drivers). Of course, Ray, too, is based almost entirely on his character in Storm Chasing and not so much on Ray Evernham.


	7. Jackass Storm

_One month later…_

Storm was a portion of the way through his first season as a Piston Cup regular. If he had to be honest, it wasn't nearly as enthralling as his time as a rookie. Most of the public had begun to—what was the word— _lose interest in him_? It wasn't that he was losing fans per se, they just weren't as avid as they used to be. Storm had to admit—he could relate. Races blurred by like days on a calendar. While he wasn't an untouchable front-runner anymore—courtesy of Cruz Ramirez—he was still winning a majority of the races. He wouldn't dare utter it aloud, but the first race after his big defeat had him feeling a bit… anxious. But Storm quickly learned the Dinoco racer's strategies on the racetrack and endeavored to combat them. Since both of the race cars had wordlessly agreed to not be…  _physical_  with each other on the track, the subsequent races were a game of who could hold the pole position on the final lap. Never in a million years would he verbally concede it, but the yellow race car was good. But not good enough. Storm still had the upper hand, as he currently held the most points. As proof of this fact, he won the most recent race at the Grandol Oil Co. Raceway...

Storm drove down the winner's podium, thanking the reporters and fans graciously as he always did (at this point, it felt very routine), when his crew chief approached him with a particular look in his eye that made Storm wary.

"Hear about that post-race party?" he asked as casually as he could, but Storm was no fool.

"I am  _not_ going," the irritated race car stated with a finality so strong that Ray would have to pull out the big guns in order to get him to change his mind. He should have expected as much.

"Jackson, the last time I told you to make friends, it ended with you being on even  _worse_  terms with the other racers than before!"

Storm gave him a look that was akin to something like 'no,  _duh_.' "Exactly! So then why should I go?"

Ray sighed. This was getting old. "Because we agreed that we'd work on this."

Storm's eyes widened innocently. "On what?"

Ray shot him a glare. "You know what! Your sportsmanship. Your anger issues. Your…" He hesitated. "... _social skills_."

Storm's face soured. It was evident that he hated it when Ray brought up his social ineptitude. "Alright! Alright!" He glanced down at the ground. "You don't need to remind me."

Ray was hopeful. "So you'll go?"

Storm's eyes remained on the asphalt. "Yeah, I guess…" he said, defeated. His tone was similar to that of a pouting child who was forced to surrender to his parents' will. He mumbled his next words bitterly. "Not sure what I'm supposed to be doing there exactly…"

"Well, instead of being your usual cocky self…" Storm shot him a dirty look at this particular description, as accurate as it was, "...try doing something  _positive_ for a change. You know, like instead of putting other racers down, offer them advice."

Storm was exasperated. "I  _tried_  doing that with Treadless."

"In a  _non_ -condescending way."

The grey racer rolled his eyes, but relented nevertheless. "Fine… I'll try."

Ray gave a curt nod. "Good." He watched the race car roll away for a second before adding, "Now, I mean it, Jackson. Really  _try_  this time, okay?"

* * *

Cruz and her racing friends were at the local hangout (in essence, a bar) where someone had decided to host a post-race party (although nobody seemed to know exactly who it was that was holding the festivity). It was a very laid-back, casual get-together—essentially a way for the racers to socialize and get to know each other. It was, of course, closed to the general public, save for any friends of the racers themselves.

It was quite crowded and noisy, but not to the point of discomfort. Instead, there was a general atmosphere of camaraderie and belonging. Some cars were sitting at the bar, helping themselves to some oil, while others were chatting merrily with their friends at their own tables. Several patrons were even enjoying games of pool or cards. The light fixtures cast a warm glow over the guests of the joint. The smell of oil and other beverages permeated through the building.

Cruz was at a table off to the corner, accompanied by Bubba Wheelhouse, Chase Racelott, Ryan Laney, and of course, Danny Swervez. They were all having a lively time together—discussing racing or cracking jokes not necessarily related to the game itself. Cruz tried her best to be invested in the conversation, but the outcome of the recent race couldn't help but cast a pall over her normally happy visage.

Danny did not miss this decline in her positive attitude. He gave her a nudge. "C'mon, Cruz. It's not so bad."

The others joined in to console her. "Yeah, Cruz," Chase added. "At least you're doing better than the rest of us!"

Danny frowned. He couldn't help but defend his expertise. "Hey, I won that one race at the Motor Speedway, you know. I'm not doing so bad."

"Yeah, but Cruz still has more points than us," Bubba mentioned, offering Cruz a supportive grin.

Ryan slumped to the floor. "Well at least you guys can make it to the top five."

Bubba laughed. "C'mon, Ryan. We don't need  _two_ race cars to cheer up."

Cruz chuckled, dispelling some of the sadness from her features. "Thanks, guys." However, even the reassuring words from her friends failed to raise her up completely. She studied the tabletop, her cheerful face falling. "It's just that… Storm is still the leader! And… I don't know, it just feels like everyone expects me to beat him! But I don't know if I can…"

Chase narrowed his eyes at something in the distance. "Speak of the devil, guess who just rolled in right now."

Cruz wheeled around so she could follow his line of sight. She knew who it was before she even looked.

The number 20 rolled into the building, presumably to chat with other racers, but his mien suggested the very opposite of that. He gazed upon the other patrons and fixtures of the bar like they were a million miles below him. He wordlessly condemned everything upon which he laid his eyes. It was a wonder why he was even there. Both his dark attire and disposition stuck out like a sore thumb among the brightly colored, amiably-faced race cars.

Chase groaned, his eyes lidded in irritation. "Ugh. Who invited him?"

"Wasn't me," Bubba said.

"Or me," Danny added.

Ryan glanced around at his companions in confusion. "Uh, guys. I think they did this for  _all_ the racers."

Chase nodded solemnly. "Right…" He frowned. "It's too bad he's such an asshole. It'd be nice to get some pointers from someone like him."

Ryan cocked his hood. "What do you mean, someone like him?"

Chase turned out his tires. "Uh, duh. He's been stacking up all those wins this season? Not to mention he won the 2016 championship,  _remember_?..."

Cruz jutted her lips out to the side. "I dunno, guys. Maybe he's alright once you get to know him?"

"Uh, Cruz." Bubba raised his lids. "He slammed you into the wall."

Cruz waved him off. "Psh. And you  _haven't_ been slammed into the wall before?" It was if she was talking about something that occurred on a regular basis.

Bubba opened his mouth to object, but then closed it in defeat. "Uhh, well. Yes… But not like  _that_!"

Cruz observed Storm meander slowly through the room. His half-lidded eyes were scanning the place disinterestedly. She could tell from his behavior that he was acting like he was trying to find some friends of his, but she was well-aware of the fact that he didn't have any… at least not in the Piston Cup. A wave of pity washed over her.

"Maybe we should trying talking to him," she suggested, as if it was a completely reasonable thing to do.

Chase's eyes widened at her is disbelief. " _We?_ "

But before he, or any of the others, could protest further, Cruz called out loudly to the lone racer, raising herself up on her shocks so that she could make herself more visible. "Hey! Storm!"

"Cruz! No!" Chase hissed. He ducked his hood, as if to vanish from sight.

Storm's frame picked up at the sound. He turned in the direction of her voice before finally locating Cruz among the other numerous vehicles. He broke out into an amused, faintly surprised smirk, as if he was ready to wreak some havoc. Cruz suddenly felt an inkling of regret. At this point though, it was too late.

"Hey," she said, lowering her volume a bit now that she had his attention. She beckoned for him to join them. "Come over here a sec."

Storm rolled his eyes, his patronizing smile still plastered across his face. He rode on over to them.

Bubba leaned in close to Cruz as he kept his gaze trained on, what seemed to him, an  _actual_ impending storm. "What are you doing, Cruz?!"

The Dinoco racer dismissed him. "Nothing. I'm just trying to be nice." Even so, her own words sounded uncertain to her.

Bubba scoffed. "Uh, yeah, I don't think 'nice' works on this guy."

Storm arrived at their table, ceasing any further speech from the Next-Gens altogether. All of them, with the exception of Cruz, fixed on him with varying levels of judgment and contempt. Storm maintained his unfazed exterior, but his frame was stiff with discomfort from the castigating glares. It was as if the combined effort of all their looks could melt him on the spot. One could cut the hostile atmosphere with a knife.

Storm shifted his cool gaze to the girl who flagged him down. "What do you want,  _Costume_  girl?"

Cruz flinched at the insulting nickname, but persisted regardless. "Just wanted to congratulate you on your win," she said as cordially as she could. Her compliment certainly  _sounded_  friendly enough.

It didn't have too much of an effect on the snooty racer, though. He rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time. "Well, gee, thanks. That's sooo nice of you." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. Chase shook his hood disapprovingly. Danny narrowed his eyes even further than before.

"You're welcome," Cruz replied, and Storm frowned at her sincerity.

"Sooo..." she continued, her eyes darting around the room as if in search of a topic. "How... are you?"

"Pretty good," Storm raised himself higher off the floor, his lids partly closed in self-satisfaction, "considering I'm first in the standings."

Cruz's good-natured demeanor drooped into something like vague irritation. Of course he would bring that up.  _Of course_.

Storm idled awkwardly in place, as if he was waiting for them to carry on the conversation, but in the event that they didn't, he was ready to bolt. Cruz was at a loss as to where to go from there. It was hard to follow up a conceited response like that with something affable. If she was honest, Cruz hadn't really planned how she was going to reportedly "get to know Storm." Where would she even start? Every time she tried to compliment him on his racing, he would shoot back an insult like it was clockwork. And Cruz didn't really know how to go about introducing other topics. It seemed like the IGNTR racer didn't have any interests outside of racing.

Storm continued to watch them carefully. Cruz was surprised that he hadn't left yet. It definitely seemed as if he was expecting something to happen. Like, what—that they would somehow magically become friends, just like that? Storm clearly had some agenda in mind, but Cruz didn't know what.

The silence that was once uncomfortable grew into something even more unpleasant. All that was audible was the white noise of the bar, which luckily made the silence feel a little less excruciating. It was if the other Next-Gen racers had wordlessly agreed to give Storm the silent treatment. It was admittedly smart. Storm was infamous for using people's ammunition against them. So as long as they didn't say anything, Storm would have nothing to deflect. Cruz was wracking her mind to find something to say that wouldn't provoke a hostile return. But it seemed to her that, in her imagination, Storm had a comeback for every single statement. It was like talking to a wall. It was futile.

At this point, Storm seemed to finally grow uneasy under their collective, uninviting stares. The racers, excluding Cruz, seemed to relish in the notion that Storm was becoming anxious. Most people wouldn't catch this sort of betrayal of displeasure, but for Cruz and the other racers, who were scrutinizing his every movement, it was not very hard. Storm's smile finally faded, and he was left with a sort of accusatory look on his face. His eyes narrowed at the other racers, like he was personally insulted that they refused to speak to him. It was as if he was daring them to talk, and stubbornly refused to do so himself unless they conceded. It was a competition to see who would fall first. At last, he dropped his gaze, as if he couldn't stand to meet their cold scowls any longer. Cruz might have been imagining it, but she fancied she caught a trace of dejection in the way he glanced away.

Instead, he put on a dismissive sneer. "Tough crowd." He swung around and began cruising away, glad to be relieved of the torturous treatment.

Cruz stared after him, lifting herself off the ground, as if she wanted desperately to say something. She couldn't just leave it on such a terrible note, could she?

"Wait!" she called out. Her friends seemed to mentally facepalm at her eagerness to bring the scoundrel back.

Storm slowed to a stop. He faced away from them for a moment, like he was debating whether or not he should ignore her re-invitation. He turned back around and returned to the table, but this time, he parked farther away. His once relaxed expression had now contorted into a clear look of annoyance.

" _Yes?_ " he replied bitterly.

Cruz paused for a moment, as if she needed to prepare what she was actually going to say. Cruz really needed to learn to think before she acted. "I was wondering…" she finally said, "How... do you do it?"

Storm widened his eyes in mockery. "What?  _Race_?"

Cruz locked onto him, unwavering. "Yeah." It was a simple enough question. This was it. This was his chance for redemption.

But Storm just rolled his eyes for what seemed the millionth time that day. "Uh, I don't know. You hit the gas and you go, I guess." Always the smart-ass.

Cruz scoffed and shook her hood. Even so, her determination did not,  _would not_  sway. "I  _know_  that. What I meant was—"

"Well, then again," Storm cut her off, his vacant grey eyes meeting her full brown ones. For a second, Cruz was discouraged by what she saw, or more,  _didn't_  see. She couldn't see anyone behind those "doorways to the soul." "You must not know how to race, considering you placed  _third_  today."

Cruz jolted back in shock at the acidic remark. It was as if the world shattered before her very eyes. She was crushed. She stared at him blankly, as if she didn't expect him to say something of that nature, but she did. Her wide eyes suggested that she couldn't comprehend why he would utter something like that, but she knew. She knew that he was in her head, trying to knock her off her game. And then she did what Cruz Ramirez hated to do more than anything in the world—she gave up. She realized, at that moment, that this was what he was. An egotistical jerk—plain and simple.

Cruz lowered her eyes to the floor, unable to bear witness to her catastrophic failures—and more than just in racing. Because of this, she missed Storm's expression take on an almost unsatisfied, even regretful impression, like maybe he hadn't meant to say what he said.

But Danny didn't notice it. All he saw was red. He revved up close to Storm, acting as a barrier between him and Cruz. His front was mere inches away from Storm's.

"You wanna say that again,  _bro_?" he demanded, breaking their unspoken vow of silence. Some of the other patrons even turned their attention towards him, a few eager to see a fight break lose. His friends' jaws dropped in astonishment. Cruz watched him with wide eyes. The Octane Gain racer was usually very mellow.

Bubba moved up to antagonize the fiend as well, his front hard. "Yeah. Cruz is a great racer. She just has her off days. Like everyone else."

Storm eyed the two defensive men with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. He was clearly not intimidated. "Well. Not me." He took off without another look at any of them—especially not Cruz. Maybe he  _did_  leave a little  _too_  quickly.

The other racers watched him go with triumph fresh upon their frames. It looked as if they had just chased off some intruder from invading their impenetrable fortress. Bubba shook his hood in disgust.

"Ugh," he said. "What a jackass."

" _Jackass Storm_ ," Chase quipped. The others chuckled at the fitting bastardized version of the IGNTR racer's name. Cruz, however, couldn't bring herself to join in. At first she thought it was because she was too upset to laugh, but she then realized that she wasn't mean-spirited enough to find it funny, even if it  _was_ pretty accurate.

"Honestly," Chase continued, his eyes trailing Storm's departing form. "It's no wonder he's always by himself. Who can put up with him?"

Cruz looked up at this particular observation. She caught the final trace of Storm's bumper disappear out the door. As much as she was convinced that there was no way that Storm could be anything other than despicable, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at Chase's painfully truthful remark. Who, indeed, could ever like somebody like Jackson Storm?

* * *

It was nearly 9 o'clock by the time Storm trudged through the doors of the IGNTR facility. Ray was working overtime, busy with some paperwork, and hadn't expected anyone to come in. But when he peeked through his office door and saw Storm heading directly to the sim room, he quickly ascertained why he was there in the first place.

Ray waited until Storm was in the simulator room before popping in behind him.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked the stormy racer as he watched him roll onto the simulator, although Ray already figured how Storm's time at the party must have transpired.

"Poorly." Storm booted up the simulator and immediately spun into the race.

Ray felt his engine drop. Of course. "Why? What happened?"

"What happened was it was a shit party, that's what!" Storm retorted, glaring up at the simulator screen like it was Ray himself.

Ray knew from Storm's foul language alone that he was more than a little irked. He was a common witness to Storm's tirades of swear words when he lost a race, whether it was real-life or a game.

"What do you mean?" Ray asked, dreading the worst. "You didn't…"

"Act like my usual cocky self?" Storm finished, his voice echoing across the silent room. "Yeah. I did."

Ray closed his eyes, shaking his hood. "I thought you said you'd try."

Storm's eyes widened in exasperation. "I did! It's just…" He groaned in frustration, actually clipping a wall, which was something Ray hadn't seen Storm do since… possibly  _ever_. "How can I be nice to  _her_?"

Ray blinked. "Her?" Suddenly, he understood. "Wait, you mean…?"

"Costume girl?" Storm had an iron grip on the patronizing epithet. "Yeah,  _her_."

Ray mused over this predicament for a moment. "Maybe it'd be best if you avoided her."

Storm gave a short, dry laugh. "Tell her to stop riding my ass every race then!" He quickly furrowed his lids once more. "Besides, it's not my fault. She's the one who wants to be all buddy-buddy with me."

Ray shrugged. "Well, why not let her then? It's not like anyone else will try approaching you." He added under his breath, "You don't exactly have a very...  _welcoming_  demeanor…"

"Why  _not_?" Storm asked as if it was the most ridiculously obvious question ever. " _Why not?_ " Miniature reflections of simulated racetracks danced across his eyes. He lowered himself down at far as he could go before skimming the simulator console. He pushed his engine past its limit, its usually quiet rumble now roaring through the empty room. Ray could have sworn he saw his speed on the screen flicker up to 215, and he was about to tell Jackson, but the simmering race car appeared to be in another world completely. "Because… because… she  _beat_  me!"

Ray studied the back of the solitary racer, who was suddenly a remote island. Even though the room was silent, save for Storm's engine and the simulator, Ray could still hear the race car's final words hanging in the air. Ray felt as if he was looking at Storm like he was a lone piece in a model play set. Was he even real? How could anyone even  _be_  this hopelessly inoperable? What was he to do to make him work?

The crew chief sighed. The hours were catching up on him. Maybe it was time to give up. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you, Jackson. If you won't even be nice to people who are nice to you, I don't know how you'll  _ever_  make friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, at this point, I'm kind of being self-indulgent and gratuitous with how much I like to poke fun at Jackson. I feel so bad for the poor guy! Regardless, this is the last sort of "one-shot" chapter before the instigating event of the story. It should be coming VERY soon.
> 
> Also, sorry if my depictions of the Next-Gen racers are off to any of you. I needed to have one of them be kind of an asshole, for the sake of the story, and I felt like Chase was the best for that role, even though he seems like a perfectly nice guy in real life. Sorry, Chase! XD Like I said in Chapter 6, I'm making these characters pretty much my own. They're not necessarily reflective of their real-life counterparts. All respect to them.
> 
> And I know you might be thinking that this chapter feels very much like a repeat of Chapter 5… and you'd be right. I just wanted to give Storm another chance to redeem himself (which obviously didn't work out) before I get into the meat and potatoes of the story. Also, it takes a closer look at how Storm acts in more social settings. Most importantly, I wanted to revisit Cruz and Storm's relationship one last time (before the first "climax" of the story). If you noticed, Cruz, Storm, and even Ray sort of "give up" on Storm's betterment. So the question remains: is he truly hopeless? Well, that's where the story comes in. Also, we get some time with Cruz and the other Next-Gens.


	8. Stormy Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I probably should have had Storm make more of an effort to make friends in the last chapter, but let's face it—he's as stubborn as a mule. His way of trying was basically waiting awkwardly at the table for the others to say something. XD I mentioned to another user that the reason why Storm refuses to be nice to Cruz is because he bears a grudge against her. Storm holds a lot of pride in his racing abilities, so you can understand why he's so adamant on being rude to her. But I do agree that it might seem repetitive at this point. I just really wanted to hammer (get it?) in Storm's personality before his character arc. I understand that to some people, I've been overdoing his rottenness—and trust me, I get it. Both his and Cruz's arcs are starting VERY soon. I appreciate you guys hanging in there with me! :)
> 
> Also, since the NASCAR racing season seems to go from February to November, I'm going to do the same in this story. It might be different from the Piston Cup's scheduling.

_Another month later…_

Cruz was on a downgrade of disaster. It was already over two months into the new season and she still couldn't keep up with Storm. Her recent loss to him at the Rustbelt Speedway was the most mortifying of them all. She placed fifth, which in her line of firsts and seconds, was nothing less than terrible. She could hardly bear to meet the eyes of her crew chief, as well as her sponsor, after such days of atrocious results.

"You're not doing too bad, Cruz," McQueen reassured her for the millionth time as they hung out by the garages in the center of the speedway after the race. "After all, you're still second in the overall standings."

Cruz allowed her eyes to slip shut. She was tired of feeling so inadequate. Tired of spending so much time being downcast after every loss. "Yeah, but I'm not  _first._ " She opened her eyes, fixing her gaze upon McQueen with a helpless despair. "I'm not—I can't be  _you._ "

McQueen's previously cheerful expression dampened at the sight of his disconsolate protégé. His eyes drifted to the ground—his features growing solemn with understanding. "You know, Cruz. When I started losing races, I thought my career was over as I knew it." He shot her a knowing look. "I mean, you saw how I was!"

Cruz nodded. After all, she  _was_  his trainer.

"But then I realized… there's more to racing than just  _winning_ ," McQueen continued, focusing on an imaginary point in the distance. He was lost in another world. "Just… being  _able_  to race is more than enough for me." His clear blue eyes became overcast. "I mean… Doc never even  _got_  that chance…"

Cruz diverted her attention away from him, conscious of the sensitive subject matter. Her front scrunched up in distress. "But… but, Mr. McQueen! Everybody is expecting me to win races just like you did! They're expecting me to be a champion like  _you_!"

McQueen's eyes grew wide at this statement before becoming soft again in sympathy. "Cruz, I didn't even get to be the first rookie ever to win the Piston Cup!" The veteran racer should have been past this, but he still seemed disappointed. He scoffed and rolled his eyes up at the sky with a bitter look. "Storm got that title." He returned his gaze. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that you'll get your chance. And it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks because…" He paused for a moment, seeming almost hesitant about his next words. He locked eyes with Cruz, warmth radiating from his frame. "You're doing great. And…" He gave her a gentle smile. "I'm proud of you."

Cruz's mouth fell slightly agape as her face relaxed into an expression of quiet wonder. She pressed her lips together, her lids drawing into a show of tender emotion. "Thank you, Mr. McQueen," she said quietly as she gave him a grateful smile. It seemed she was always finding something to thank him for.

McQueen inclined his hood in a sign of support.

"Alright," he said after a brief silence, casting a wary glance up at the increasingly cloudy sky. "You ready to head back now?"

Cruz nodded. She caught this cautionary survey and broke into a cheeky grin. "What? You afraid of a little rain?"

The race car snorted. "No. I just…" He shuddered. "... _hate_  getting wet."

Cruz smiled, amused. "Alright, drama queen. Let's go."

The two turned to leave, but were stopped by a familiar voice.

"Hey, Lightning! Cruz!" It was Tex, the owner of Dinoco ( _and_ Rust-eze).

"Hey, Tex!" McQueen greeted amiably as the gold Cadillac rolled up to meet them. "What's up?"

"I was just wonderin' if you had a minute to talk?" Tex asked McQueen. Despite the gravity of his request, he maintained an affable expression.

McQueen raised his lids. "Oh! Sure." He and Cruz moved to follow him back to the Dinoco/Rust-eze tent. Tex threw Cruz an uneasy glance.

"Oh—apologies Miss Cruz, but I was planning on talkin' to Lightning one-on-one," he told her, his tone light.

Cruz hit the brakes. She frowned at the millionaire's decision to exclude her, but remained pleasant. "Oh, okay." Even so, as she watched the two vehicles cruise into the tent, she couldn't help but feel a vague, unsettling feeling growing in the pit of her engine. She developed a troubling notion, which she mentally cursed herself for having, but decided to investigate nevertheless.

Cruz sidled up close to the side of the tent, away from the flaps, careful to not let her engine rev. She strained to hear McQueen and Tex's voices from inside.

"So, Tex. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" It was McQueen, still unsuspecting.

Tex released a breath. Cruz's engine flipped over in her hood. "Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way."

McQueen paused for a second. "What do you mean?" His tone took on a more concerned edge.

"It's… about Cruz."

The girl in question could hardly breathe.

"Cruz?" McQueen was still lost. It took him a moment to figure it out. "Tex… you don't mean…"

"Don't get me wrong." Tex quickly defended. "Miss Cruz is a darn good racer. But she still can't quite catch up with that Storm fella."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" McQueen couldn't help but sound a little offended.

"Nothing!" Tex was apologetic. "It's just that after the first race, when I took on Cruz, I was expecting…  _more_  from her. You hear me?"

McQueen didn't answer straight away, which only exacerbated Cruz's anxiety. "So... you don't think she's good enough?"

The Dinoco racer's engine seemed to fail altogether. The very sentiments that she hoped she would never hear—and yet here they were, loud and clear. Cruz couldn't stand to witness any more of it. She squeezed her eyes shut and rushed off, anxious to block out the words that were threatening to destroy her. The damning sounds of the dialogue chased after her.

Tex sighed. "It ain't like that, son. It's just...  _Lightning McQueen's_  her crew chief, after all."

McQueen's voice went low with hurt. "So...  _I'm_ not good enough?"

"Son," Tex was desperate to console him. "Look, y'know I put passion for racing over everything else. I didn't recruit you to Team Dinoco just 'cause you were fast. You're a hard worker, and you respect your fellow racers."

McQueen was silent. He moved his lips, as if to form a coherent sentence, but he couldn't manage to utter a sound. At last, he gazed up at Tex and asked him the dreaded question beating inside his mind.

"So... you're taking Cruz off the team?"

Tex jerked back, flabbergasted. "Take Cruz off the team? Are you kiddin' me?" He kicked the ground with his tire and guffawed, like it was the most outrageous thing he had ever heard. "I wouldn't dream of booting  _either_  of you off the team!"

McQueen's face sunk into a look of relief.

Tex chortled to himself for a moment longer before sobering once more. He moved in close to McQueen. "Lightning," he said, his voice soft. "When I first took you on, after watching you help the King, I  _knew_ you were the kinda car I wanted racin' for Team Dinoco."

McQueen gave him a small smile, appreciative of the compliment.

"And when you started winning races..." Tex shook in hood in awe. "Well, that was just icing on the cake!"

McQueen's face fell a little in concern. "So then... what is this about, Tex?"

Tex lowered his eyes for a moment, debating over how to present his thoughts. He glanced back up at McQueen. "You've got a lot of stuff, kid."

Lightning jolted at the familiar phrase, so much so that he almost didn't catch what Tex said next.

"And I know Cruz does too. But the results just  _ain't_  showing that." Tex stared at McQueen with a fiery determination. "I  _know_  you can do better, Lightning. You and Cruz. But the question is... do  _you_ know if you both can?"

McQueen didn't answer for a long time. His lack of an immediate response was unnerving. Did he truly trust in Cruz's abilities,  _and_  his own? Did he really have what it took to be a competent—no, an  _outstanding_  crew chief?

"Yes," he stated, hoping to dispelling all inklings of uncertainty. His eyes leveled with Tex's, assuring him that there wasn't a challenge in the world that Lightning McQueen wouldn't be able to face head-on. He wasn't one to give up, that was for sure.

Tex's tense features melted into satisfaction. "I 'preciate it, Lightning. I just wanted to make sure things were alright with you two. That y'all weren't having trouble working together or nothing."

"You can take my word for it, Tex." McQueen made sure to appear unwavering, a steady bastion in a sea of doubt. "We'll be winning in  _no time_."

Tex gave McQueen a supportive tap with his tire as he rolled out of the tent. "Make us proud, boy!" he called as he departed.

Lightning watched him leave, his front still frozen in that solid, dogged façade. But as the sky outside grew darker and darker, the words of his late mentor echoed louder and louder in his head. They chipped away at his self-assured mettle, leaving him with the remnants of doubt.

_"You've got a lot of stuff, kid."_

Lightning's features turned pensive.  _"But is what I got enough to be a good crew chief?"_

Meanwhile, Cruz was languishing by the edge of the infield, oblivious to her crew chief's loyal support. She peered up at the foreboding clouds forming above her in the sky. They ballooned in size, accumulating enough water to rain on any parade. The murky forms blocked out the sun, preventing any light from shining down upon her. The climate was grey, stripped of its warmth and color. A tempest in the making. Two vehicles passed by on the track in front of her.

"Looks like rain," one said, commenting on the depressing weather.

"You know what they say—April showers bring May flowers," the other replied in jest.

Cruz watched them vanish into the distance, like ghosts relaying a prophecy. " _There'd better be a ton of flowers blooming for me next month. I can't stand all this rain."_

* * *

Storm cruised back to the garages after another day of perfect performance on the racetrack. He arrived at his trailer, glancing around for his hauler, but was surprised to find her notably absent.

" _Weird. Gale is_ always  _on time in picking me up,"_ he thought, a slightly peeved expression forming on his face. He shook his hood absentmindedly. She'd be there eventually.

In the meantime, he opened his trailer and reversed up onto the ramp, the door closing after him. It was dark, save for the indigo neon lights lining the inside. He was alone, with nothing but a few gleaming trophies and glossy photographs of his lovely visage to keep him company.

Storm's eyes started to flutter shut. He figured he'd catch a quick snooze as he was waiting for Gale. As a Piston Cup racer, he needed every opportunity to rest. But his plans were interrupted by the loud obnoxious wubbing of electronic music.

At first he thought he'd left his sound system on, but he quickly realized that the disturbance was coming from inside his left fender. It was his phone.

"Who is it?" he asked his electronic assistant. The virtual female read out the caller ID. It was a number he didn't recognize—L.A. area code.

Storm eased back into his relaxed position. No use answering it then. The ringtone faded away, and everything was silent once more, until it started back up a moment later.

Storm sighed. He hated answering the phone if the caller was unknown. But whoever it was was eager to speak to him.

He answered it. "Hello?" Annoyance was already creeping into his greeting.

"Jackson?" A baritone male voice came from the speaker. "Is that you?"

Storm jolted up in surprise. He was wide awake now. He  _knew_ that voice. He paused for a moment, debating over whether or not to make a sound. Even if he did just hang up, the man would track him down one way or another. The fiend was quite persistent. Storm lowered himself back down to the floor of his trailer, taking some time to compose himself before finally replying.

"How did you get this number?" he asked, hoping he sounded unaffected.

"I called your agent and asked for it," the voice responded, swift and professional. "You'd be surprised the things you can get when people know you're not only a wealthy businessman, but  _also_  Jackson Storm's father."

Storm huffed, rolling his eyes extra hard so that hopefully his father would hear them over the phone. "What do you want?"

"I just… wanted to check up on you," Storm's father said, as if this was a routine matter. "See how you're doing."

Storm scoffed. "You don't talk to me in  _5_  years, and then all of a sudden, out of the blue, you call me to see how I'm  _doing_?" He allowed a short, dry laugh to escape his lips. "C'mon. You're a businessman. Can't you come up with something more believable?"

Storm heard his father sigh over the speaker. "Look. I know you and I haven't had the best relationship."

"Yeah, no shit."

Storm knew his father had just flinched over the line. The disciplinarian  _hated_ it when he cursed, even though he did it himself all the time.

"...and I was thinking…" his father pressed on. "...maybe I could have done...  _more_."

Storm made a grimace that he was lucky his ex-provider couldn't see. "Oh, you've done  _plenty_."

" _Listen to me, Jackson_." Storm smiled, hearing the man's patience begin to thin already. "I know I've never really had…  _time_  to spend with you."

"Thank God."

"Will you—!" Storm's smirk grew even larger. His father took a deep breath and released it before continuing. "I realized that maybe I was… a little too  _harsh_  on you."

Storm was unimpressed. "Did you."

The other end was silent for a moment. "...I caught your race today."

Storm's tone remained flat. "Really."

"You won first place," his father told him, as if the racer didn't know already.

"Oh, but you didn't see that race a few weeks back," Storm replied, not bothering to hide his bitterness. "I  _lost_  that one by the way. So you can hold your compliments, because—"

"I had no  _idea_  you were so good!"

Storm's rant died on his lips. He stared at the gaping blackness of the inside of his trailer door. "...What?"

"You set the record for the  _fastest lap ever recorded_!" His father went on, and Storm could hear his grin.

The race car's gaze drifted to the floor. "...Yeah." Like it wasn't a big deal.

"Jackson, that's incredible!" His father's voice echoed through his trailer, like he was actually there with him.

Storm squinted in confusion, turning out his tires for some kind of explanation for this unexpected change in attitude. "But I  _lost_  that other race… I lost the first race of the season!"

"There's nothing wrong with that," came the sound lightly from the other end. The mystifying vibrations were akin to something like "You'll get 'em next time!" or "Cheer up, sport!" Storm gawked in disbelief. The praise coming from his father's mouth was completely foreign to him. He half expected the bastard to be held at gunpoint, forced to choke out this approving address in exchange for his life. It was the only possible explanation. Who was this, and what did they do with his father?

"Yeah… yeah there is," Storm argued half-heartedly. Quite frankly, he was too bewildered to really protest.

"Jackson," his father's voice took on a gentler tone, that of which Storm was sure he had never heard in his life. Yes, this was definitely a robot. Either that or he was possessed. "Even if you were to lose every following race for the rest of your life, it wouldn't change the fact that you  _were_  a great racer. You  _are_  a great racer."

Storm sat there, dumbfounded, wracking his mind to find some smart-ass response with which to retort, but he was coming up blank. It was as if his father was speaking to him in another language entirely—he just couldn't understand it. His encouraging tone almost rubbed him the wrong way—it was so strange. He didn't know if he liked it. He felt like he should have been flattered, but for some reason, it felt  _different_ …

"I know you're… not going to believe me when I say this…" His father was quiet, and a bit gruff as if he wasn't used to not yelling. "Because I've probably never said it to you before, but…" He took an extra long pause. Storm held his breath in anticipation. It seemed like hours before he next spoke. "I'm proud of you, Jackson. I really, truly am." Storm heaved a dismissive sigh. Well okay, then. There was  _no_  way that was—

"I… I love you, son."

Storm's train of thought screeched to a halt, and then it was derailed completely. All that survived was his father's final phrase echoing through his mind. He was almost… repulsed by the man's tender sentiments, like he wasn't supposed to be saying them to him—that it wasn't remotely conceivable for those three things to originate from his lips. Then somehow, his father's words physically pierced him, digging an ache in the pit of his engine. This pain spread everywhere, including to the back of his throat. He felt his body grow heavy, like his engine weighed a thousand pounds. The world was foggy and dream-like, like maybe he  _was_  dreaming up this whole stupid thing. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Jackson?" His guardian called from a million miles away. "You still there?"

Storm released a breath he didn't know he was holding. His father's voice pulled him back to reality. "Huh? Oh. Yeah."

"Good." His father was relieved. "I just…" He sighed. Storm pictured him rolling over to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the top floor of his luxurious skyscraper. He would often peer down at the tiny cars driving by below him, dimensions away, much like Storm found himself doing in his own condo, which was maybe 45 minutes away—one hour with traffic, which was abundant. But that was in relation to his office building, of course. His dad was almost never home.

"What?" Storm suddenly grew very conscious of his own voice. It didn't sound like his.

"I'm just…" His father made that same exasperated expression. "...not in a good place right now."

"Why?" Storm felt as if he were reading lines from a teleprompter.

"Business isn't doing so well and I think…" His father released yet another breath. "I think… there's a chance I might lose the company." He chuckled darkly. "You know how it is—technology just keeps  _racing_  away from you, it's so damn fast."

"Oh." Storm waited for a few seconds, and then he realized that he should probably be saying something. "Well… isn't there anything you can—?"

"I'm glad you asked, Jackson," his father interrupted. "I think some money would  _really_  help rescue the company."

"So… are you gonna like, take out a loan or something?" Storm asked.

""Well…" He trailed off in a higher pitch. "No, not really…"

"Well maybe someone can—"

"Exactly." His father's sharpness sent a crackle through the speaker. "You make a lot of money, don't you?" The question popped up like an unsuccessfully submerged buoy.

Storm blinked. "What?"

"I looked it up." He was talking faster, the way he would when he was trying to make a deal. "Apparently race cars like you make  _millions_."

"Yeah."

"So, I was thinking…" He prolonged the last part of his sentence, expecting his son to finish it. "I know it'd be terrible to ask this of you, but my tires are booted."

Storm realized long before what his father's intentions were, but it only really hit him now. "You… want my racing money?"

His father chuckled, like they were having a drink together. Like good ol' chums. "Not all of it, obviously. Just…" He slurred the next words together. "Halfamil."

Storm widened his eyes in disbelief. " _Half a million?_  As in  _500k_?"

"Yeah." His father was unabashed, as if he was asking for some change. "You can spare that, can't you?"

Storm scrutinized the floor, but to what effect? His earnings weren't listed there. He didn't need to search for them—he had memorized the numbers by heart. 500,000 wasn't a dent in his bank. The real question was whether he wanted to relinquish that. To his father, no less. "Well… probably…"

"Great!" The businessman almost responded before Storm had finished speaking. He laughed. "Ha! Can't believe you can make that kind of money from driving around in a circle all day." A sound of scorn escaped his throat. "What a joke."

Storm started at the odd remark. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of icy cold water over him. "Wake up!" they seemed to cry. But Storm had already known all along. He had just refused to believe it. No—maybe he didn't  _want_  to believe it. His features hardened into a frigid understanding. The clouds of naivety cleared from his eyes, and yet were soon replaced with clouds of vengeance.

"So, when can you get it to me?" his father continued, oblivious to his son's increasing antipathy.

No response.

"Hello? Jackson?" the thing on the other end called out. "You still there?"

Storm would allow it an acknowledgement. "Why… did you call me?" His words were heavy with insinuation. He wasn't about to grace him with directness just yet.

An eerie silence filled the trailer. Storm could imagine the con man scrambling for composure. "...to congratulate you on your win, what else?" Oh, he was good… but Storm was better. He  _knew_  the man. Unfortunately.

No reply from Storm.

"Jackson?" Desperation started creeping into the caller's tone.

"You're proud of me… huh." It was a statement, but Storm said it like an accusation.

"Yes." He was strong, but his impatience was stronger. "That's what I said."

Storm kept his mouth shut. But inside, his oil started boiling with an inferno hot enough to make the devil envious—his temperature shooting through the roof. His oil levels began plummeting—the friction in his engine building, threatening to tear him apart from the inside. His cooling system couldn't keep up with the ravaging heat—Storm reckoned his engine could seize. But when he answered, it was with the cool, quiet fury of a man in control. He wasn't about to let the other one win. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter."

His father paused. "What?"

Silence.

"Jackson." His father first tried to assuage him, as if to say, "Come now, don't be unreasonable." But to no avail. "Jackson?" Now he was desperate, clinging to him for support. Nothing. "Jackson!" He was starting to lose it. "What the hell do you think all that money that I used to raise you was for?" he exploded. Anddd there it was—his infamous temper. "You think that shit came out of thin air? I worked  _hard_  to keep you alive!"

Storm had heard enough. He tried switching off the phone, which consisted of him mentally commanding it to power off, since the mechanism was connected to his wiring. But it wouldn't obey.

"You are  _kidding_." His father was talking more to himself now. "You have GOT to be kidding me." He made a sound of frustration. "And I was doing  _so_  well too!"

Storm continued to try hanging up, even shaking his left fender in hopes that it would do the trick. It didn't.

"Do you have any idea how  _embarrassing_  it was to see you lose to that  _girl_?" His father wasn't holding back any longer. "How  _humiliating_  it was to watch her  _flip_.  _Over_.  _You_?!" He gave what seemed to Jackson a villainous cackle. "John Storm: the guy whose son got flipped over by a  _girl_!"

"Shut up!" Storm yelled, stomping his left tire against the floor. The damn thing still wouldn't be quiet!

"I mean, how,  _how_  can you lose to a goddamn—!"

"AAAHH!" Storm slammed his left fender against the side of his trailer, shattering his headlight and creating a dent in his carbon fiber. Broken glass showered the floor. The movement was so strong that it made the trailer shake a little, causing the shelf on the left side to wobble. One of his trophies on the ledge quivered over the edge and tumbled to the floor with a crash. The cup snapped in two. But no matter—at least he silenced that aggravating voice.

Storm drew a series of labored, shallow pants in the darkness of his trailer. His engine was whirring with his agitated state. His left fender was throbbing in pain. But he was  _Jackson Storm_. He could handle it. Nothing a little buffering couldn't fix. He only feared that Gale would notice his injury and ask questions.

Storm wallowed in the aftermath of the incident for a few more minutes. His mind was reeling with the words from the recent conversation. He couldn't set any one thing straight in his mind. It was a jumbled mess. He needed some fresh air.

The stormy racer took some extra time to compose himself before pressing the door pedal. He crept down the ramp, glancing around to see if anyone else was around. Luckily, the track was relatively empty. He peered up at the sky. From the looks of it, a storm was coming. So that was why it was deserted. Everybody wanted to escape the rain.

Storm parked outside his trailer, absorbing the desolate scenery of the field. The grey heavens bathed the pavilion in a dreary color, the muted tones matching the cloudy tint of his own eyes. A rumble came from the firmament above—a vengeful god's wrathful cry. Shortly after, rain showered over the area. Normally, Storm would have been more than eager to take shelter from the harsh elements. But this time, he didn't mind the stormy weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch, so much hurt and angst in this chapter. It's pretty clear from this chapter why Storm is the way he is (at least, this is part of the reason why). I'm going to delve more into Storm's parents and his upbringing… probably more than anyone ever wanted. (If any of you want to know how Storm sounded when he yelled... watch the bonus features on the Blu-ray... some of you know what I'm talking about...) Dammit, I'm such a sucker for tragic backstories (especially of my own creation). So if that's not your thing, you might wanna turn back now, because I'm just beginning with this shit, ha ha. Also, anyone notice the parallels between Cruz and Storm in this chapter?
> 
> Wrote this chapter during rainy weather, actually. Really got me into the mood, ha ha. I'm really overdoing it with the Storm puns in the titles, aren't I?
> 
> Shit's going down soon… VERY soon… be ready for it :)


	9. Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italicized sections of this chapter are flashbacks.

_One week later…_

Cruz beheld the Los Angeles International Speedway from her own little secluded island off of pit road. It was minutes before the start of the race, and everybody was still getting set up and situated. McQueen had succeeded in shooing away the reporters who were eager to speak to her so she could have some time to herself. Cruz would have normally been more than happy to converse with them, but today was different. Today was the day she would prove her merit.

She took in the current scene. Thousands of sparkling frames wavered through the stands like glints of light reflecting off the sea. The combined chatter of the attendees, reporters, racers, as well as the announcers filled the stadium. Cruz felt like a little fish in a big ocean. The sheer size of the place dwarfed her, and had quite intimidated her the first time she raced. Well, technically the  _second_  time she raced, although Thunder Hollow was another creation of its own. But none of this was compared to the very first time she tried entering one of the local races when she was younger…

_The Río Grande Speedway wasn't a very impressive race track. In fact, it was nothing to write home about. Sure, it bore some resemblance to a typical Piston Cup track, but downsized to maybe ¼ its size and quality. The stands were rusted and creaky. The track itself was dusty and run-down with cracks in its form. The grass in the infield was brown and dying—a victim to the Texas heat. As for the pits—there were none. The track was an oval in the ground which served its purpose—racing. But to Cruz, it was the world._

_Cruz's engine hummed nervously as she passed through the flimsy metal gates into what could hardly be called a speedway. Her cousins, Pablo and Victor, accompanied her for emotional support. Pablo himself had run a few races here—he had even placed second in one!_

" _Today's your day, Cruz!" Pablo told her as they rolled onto the gritty track. "Today you're proving to everybody who's really the fastest car in town!"_

 _Cruz studied her competition. All the contestants were required to wear a number. By some miracle, she had managed to snatch Lightning McQueen's 95. Victor had sprayed a decent-looking version of the number on her sides before they left. They had all agreed to not tell Aunt Carla that Cruz was participating in the race—not only because she was busy with work, but because Cruz didn't want her to know that she was serious about racing. Aunt Carla always had the assumption that the kids raced purely for fun. She didn't carry the slightest notion that any of them wanted to be_ _ **professional**_   _racers. Even Pablo and Victor wouldn't have guessed that Cruz had a dream of becoming a contender for the Piston Cup. This wasn't due to any accident—Cruz made sure to keep her ambitions hidden. So on the surface, competing against neighbors and friends was enough to satisfy them._

_But even the local races were no jokes. Cruz noticed that many of the other vehicles were bigger and stronger than she was. Their engines were loud and fierce compared to her medium-sounding engine, which was suppressed by a muffler. Physically, they were also larger. As Cruz scanned the congregation, she noted that none of the participants appeared to be female either. One dark race car dashed across her path, nearing causing her to crash into them. She slammed on the breaks and released a startled yelp._

_Pablo laughed at her reaction. "Relax, Cruz. You look like you're about to jump outta your metal!"_

" _She's just a little nervous, Pablo," his brother, Victor pointed out._

_Cruz became aware of a rapid clinking sound, which she soon realized to be the sound of her own metal frame rattling against her tires. She willed herself to stop._

" _All racers to the track!" The single announcer called out._

_Cruz froze. Her axles were stiff with icy dread. She watched helplessly as the other racers gathered at the starting line. She felt as if she was in a nightmarish dream—powerless to move and unable to utter a sound._

" _Well, go on, Cruz!" Pablo urged her. He gave her a supportive tap before he and Victor headed for the stands, which were thinly filled._

" _Good luck!" Pablo called to her over his fender. Victor gave him a chiding nudge._

" _Hey, that's bad luck!" he reminded him._

_Pablo slowed for a second, thinking._

" _Break an axle!" he corrected, tossing a final glance back at the terrified yellow coupé—oblivious to her stupor._

_Cruz eventually found the courage to wheel around to the starting line as the other racers started settling into position. She was situated at the rear of the pack, still very much stuck between two worlds—the racing one, and the one in which she worked a nine-to-five job at her aunt's muffler shop for the rest of her life—forever clinging to that glimmer of hope that she would realize her fantasy._

_One sleek, black race car—the same one that had nearly knocked her over—pulled up next to her in the line. He cast a disparaging glance at her and smirked._

" _Hey, Buttercup," he teased. "You gonna race?"_

_Some of the other cars overheard this mocking comment and snickered. Cruz shrunk back in embarrassment. She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to disappear from sight and pretend that she had never been there._

" _Racers: Start. Your. Engines," the announcer stated from up in his shabby shack._

_The collective sound of engines turning over filled the air. Cruz switched on her own, which shuddered to a start._

" _On your marks…"_

_Cruz's eyes darted back and forth between the others. Could she really beat these people?_

" _Get set…"_

_A poor, small town girl like her? A racer?_

" _Go!"_

_Tires squealed, and cars zoomed into action. Meanwhile, Cruz was barrelling the opposite direction, staying down low to the ground as she hastily made for the exit._

_When she burst from the iron gates, she could hear the familiar rumble of Pablo and Victor's engines chasing after her._

" _Cruz!" Pablo called._

_Cruz slowed to a stop._

" _Cruz," Pablo said again as he approached, this time softer. He and Victor arrived at either side of her with confused, concerned expressions. "What's wrong? What happened?"_

_Cruz kept her eyes trained on the asphalt. "I—I can't."_

_Pablo frowned. "What do you mean you can't?"_

_Cruz lifted her hood, her eyes shooting up to her cousin's. "I'm not good enough. I mean, you saw them! I don't look anything like a racer!"_

" _What does that matter?" Victor asked, disapproving of this observation._

" _It's how I know…" Cruz turned around and gazed off at the speeding cars on the track. She seemed to be watching them from a million miles away. "That racing… just isn't meant for me… That I'll never be a racer..."_

_Pablo turned out his tires in disbelief. "But you didn't even try!"_

_Cruz dropped her gaze to the dirt. "Why try when you know you're going to lose? It's one thing for me to know I'm not good enough, but it's another when everybody else knows…"_

Cruz peered out at the increasingly filled stadium. It was nearly go-time at this point. She threw a backwards glance at her crew chief idling by his podium, sharing a laugh with Strip and Cal Weathers, who had come to watch her race. The rest of her pit crew (the Radiator Springs guys), which was originally McQueen's team, was also present as usual. Sally was also among those in the pits, as she was always eager to attend these races, even if her boyfriend wasn't the one racing. The Porsche caught her eye and offered her a supportive smile.

Cruz mustered the best grin she had in exchange. She tore her eyes away from their cheerful expressions, her normally soft brown eyes turning hard and fierce. She focused on the track before her, picturing herself gliding past Storm, stealing the pole position. Beating him, finally. After spending so much time being second-rate.

She wasn't about to let them down. Not when so many people expected her to win. Not when she promised her aunt that she would win. She wasn't about to lose to Storm again.

" _Jackson Storm… you'd better watch out."_

* * *

" _Jackson… are you happy with what you've got?"_

_A smaller, youthful, somehow rounder Jackson Storm rested underneath an enormous, pure white frosted Christmas tree. It glimmered and glowed with what seemed like thousands of lights and ornaments. Its presence was ostentatious, overbearing even, as if it was merely a display straight out of a store catalog. If you really squinted, you could almost make out the smiling fronts of a holiday-dressed family parked around the fireplace._

_To add to this imagery, there was an absurd amount of gifts and gadgets piled around the tree. There was so much loose, torn wrapping paper fluttering about that Jackson was nearly buried in the stuff. He was gazing down at the final present he had unwrapped—a racing video game that he vaguely knew about which didn't really interest him, but he desired nonetheless. He and the family maid, who had eventually taken on the role of nanny, Nancy, were alone in the huge expanse that was the Storms' living room. Nancy was a modest, middle-aged, white minivan with a relaxed deportment._

_Jackson scrutinized the video game before him with a kind of precocious pensiveness that looked out of place on a car so young._

" _Yeah," he said lightly. Jackson surveyed the rest of his gifts, that self-important look remaining on his face, like he was a prince overseeing his kingdom._

" _I got everything on my list," he announced, although he was anything but the example of an excited kid on Christmas. His eyes drifted over each object as he listed them off._

" _I got a camera, an MP3-player, a boombox, another MP3-player but this one's black instead of white, another N64 because I broke the old one, this video game, this other video game, and that other one, I don't really know what it's called…" Jackson trailed off, like he suddenly got tired of speaking._

_Nancy passed him a gentle smile from her dutiful post off to the side. "So, everything then."_

" _Yeah," Jackson reiterated, just as empty as before. "That's all I wanted, I guess."_

_The quiet rumble of passing engines outside broke the frigid, vacant atmosphere of the room. Jackson perked up at the noise and swung around to peer out the window at it. He rolled over some discarded wrapping paper on the way, causing them to crinkle under his wheels._

_He gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows at a three-member family approaching around the corner. The group consisted of what looked like a mother and father, along with their young son. The trio chortled happily to themselves as they traversed alongside the primly maintained front yard of the Storm mansion._

" _Nancy," Jackson asked, keeping his eyes trained on the three vehicles. "Where's Mom and Dad?"_

_Nancy studied Jackson's solitary, dark outline, set against the garish, cloudy light from the outside. "Your father's away on a business trip and your mother…" She paused, her eyes crinkling in concern. "You mother left a couple years ago to pursue acting…" Nancy watched Jackson shift slightly. "Don't… you remember, Jackson?"_

_Jackson lowered his soft grey eyes to the floor. "Oh… right. Yeah, I remember." He glanced back up to observe the forms of the family disappear past the house. He watched the place where they were last present, like he could still see them there. But they had already gone. It was almost as if he were expecting them to return, just like that. Just for him. Just so he could look at them again, with eyes that stared off past them, as if he were searching for something a million miles away._

_Nancy shifted uncomfortably under the obvious, heavy silence. Her eyes lit up with an idea._

" _How about some more gingerbread car cookies, Jackson? Wouldn't you like that?"_

_Jackson finally managed to tear his eyes away from the ghosts outside his window._

" _Yeah," he stated as casually as before, but this time, his eyes were heavy with the weight of someone past his years. "I'd like that."_

Storm rolled down his trailer ramp, his stormy grey eyes living up to his name. Gale eyed his sullen form with apprehension. He seemed more… brooding than usual, if that was even possible. Hostile airs gathered around him like rain clouds. Gale had developed a sixth sense for detecting Storm's subtle mood shifts over the past year. She knew when something was wrong with him, even if it didn't seem obvious to anyone else.

"Are you alright, Jackson?" she inquired, soft and sweet so as not to provoke the beast.

Storm glanced over at Gale, still the expert at keeping up a blasé façade. "Yeah, why?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but his words came out fast and curt.

Gale paused, thinking on how to proceed. She recalled how Storm had refused to emerge from his trailer to greet her after the race last week, and had simply commanded her to leave directly for the hotel. His bass boosted music was even more deafening than usual. It was all that was audible from the trailer the entire trip. When they had arrived at the hotel, Storm rushed out of his trailer and down the road before Gale could even finish unhitching herself.

" _Where are you going?"_  she had called after him.

" _I just have to do something."_ He didn't bother to slow or turn around.

There was little Gale could do but allow him to leave. She knew when she was beat. There was no way in hell she would have been able to catch up with him anyway. Storm had returned an hour later, emotionally and physically no different than before. He deflected all of Gale's nagging questions, and before long, Gale had given up, deciding that whatever the reason was, she would have to pry it from Storm's cold, dead tires to get it.

But whatever had happened to him, whatever that had transpired during his absence, it had some hell of an effect on Storm's attitude. There was something wrong all right. Gale could feel it in her chassis.

She pondered over how to next address her concerns. "Well, it's just that, last week—"

Storm gave a short groan, like a fuse had just been blown. Like her innocent question was the last straw, as if it had touched a nerve. "How many times do I have to tell you—I just had some personal business to attend to, that's all! Now, will you get off my—" His voice cut off abruptly; he was becoming aware of his own unraveling state. He worked to recompose himself, casting his eyes down at the ground, perhaps a bit ashamed of his harsh tone towards who could be considered one of his only friends.

Gale studied him with upturned lids—the perfect image of a concerned mother. If only she could get through to him. "Jackson, you know you can talk to me if anything's wrong—right?"

Storm fixed his eyes in the distance, like he was actually considering Gale's offer. His tense features started slipping away, as if he was releasing years of emotional burdens from off his cab. Gale was astonished to witness such a tired, defeated look settle upon him. But no, it was a fool's errand to think that Jackson Storm would divulge his feelings. The open doors to his heart were quickly slammed shut. The walls that were starting to crumble built themselves back up again.

"Well, it's a good thing nothing's wrong then," he said, his tone a new kind of low. He lifted his eyes up at Gale, and she was startled to find that the young man staring up at her was someone she hadn't seen before. His normally cool grey eyes seemed to burn holes through her frame. They were seeing something—telling her something, but she didn't know what. They were on search-and-destroy, pinpointing weaknesses and challenges he could run down and smooth over. These feelings weren't even directed toward her, and she was intimidated. If looks could kill.

But before Gale could react, Storm was already rumbling toward the track—a wolf stalking off into the night.

"I've got a race to win."

* * *

Storm sunk down so low to the ground that he grazed his undercarriage several times against the asphalt. He moved with an express purpose—not waiting for anyone in his way. He was a steamrolller en route to flatten competition. He drove past all the other racers at the pits to his site farther down, where Ray was waiting for him. Luckily, their pit stop wasn't located near Ramirez's. Even so, Storm still had no choice but to pass her station on his way.

Cruz was out near the edge of the infield, appearing like a pensive philosopher contemplating the world. When she turned around to head back to the pits, she had the misfortune of meeting Storm crossing her path.

"Storm," she stated, like his name was any other word.

"Ramirez." Storm was just as, if not more, apathetic.

On the surface, a simple acknowledgement of each other's existence in passing. Based on their intonations, however, it was more like a subtle warning. Watch out—I'm winning this race today. I  _cannot_  afford to lose.

* * *

Cruz was growing sick of facing the back of Storm's bumper every time she raced. She was especially fed up with it today, and made a mental promise to herself that she would not be seeing it any longer. She pushed herself as far up to the front as she could, gritting her teeth in determination.

"Okay, now watch that turn…" McQueen's voice came from the radio, like a light guiding her through her darkest hour. It seemed that today he was also more focused than usual. He would typically crack a few jokes here and there as she raced, but today, his quips were absent.

After the talk with Tex, McQueen had explained to Cruz the details of their conversation. No, he wasn't going to boot her from the team. And while McQueen wasn't worried, he did seem… intense.

" _Don't worry, Cruz. We are going to_ _ **win**_   _you those races,"_  he had promised her, his normally mild blue eyes glowing with heat.

Cruz was a little surprised by her crew chief's newfound urgency. Up until that moment, he had been very unhurried about her losses. He was letting her take her time—allowing her to keep at her own pace. But when he locked eyes with her, and she could see the black and white checkered flag flashing in his eyes, well, it almost seemed like it wasn't just for her sake that he wanted to win…

Cruz tried to shake herself from her troubling thoughts, but she couldn't help but latch onto that mental image of McQueen and his fiery desire to win. As much as he assured her that he was proud of her regardless, she couldn't help but feel a burden to him. Lightning McQueen was one of the fastest, most talented racecars in the world. Shouldn't it be natural that his protégée was also the best?

With this mind, Cruz scrunched up her face, blocking out the roaring fans and booming voices of the commentators. The rest of the world faded from existence. Darkness consumed the stadium, with nothing but a spotlight on Storm's figure to show her the way. As far as she was concerned, all there was was Storm, and McQueen's voice to lead her to victory.

* * *

40 more laps… 30 more laps… 20… Storm growled at how long this race in particular seemed to take. Sure, while he did enjoy racing, there were many times when it became tedious, due to his being always at the pole. Threats to his position were minimal. But this time, the circumstances were different. This time, he could really feel Cruz Ramirez breathing down his bumper. But at some points it felt as if someone else was looming over him. A special kind of weight dragged him down. One that almost sucked the will to win out of him. Like it didn't really matter whether he won or not. Like… did any of this matter?

All the while, Ray was oblivious to Storm's heightened anxieties. His voice on the radio came in routinely to give him a tip, but that was the extent of his influence. At this point, his crew chief didn't need to do much to direct him on the race track. As far as he was concerned, Storm was the master of it. What else was there to learn?

The white flag beckoned in the distance like a godsend. Storm moved down low to the asphalt whizzing by underneath him. Finally. Time to prove to him—er, her that he was a force to be reckoned with. That he was Jackson Storm—master of the track, and master of… life, really.

* * *

The white flag flashed by like a warning signal. Cruz felt her engine flip-flopping around like a fish as the track grew shorter and shorter before her eyes. Last lap. Last lap?!

Cruz caught her uneasiness before it snowballed. She channeled all that nervous energy into the force she needed to line herself beside Storm. It was her specialty, after all, to take the negative and use it as fuel to push through to the positive.

"Alright, Cruz." McQueen's voice. This was the endgame. "This is it. It's now or never!"

As they approached turn one, Cruz managed to pull out a little past Storm. "Yes!" Cruz broke out into a celebratory grin, albeit, a little prematurely.

The simmering grey racer shot her a piercing glare. "No!" He strayed over and tapped her just enough to bring her off her line. The crowd became rowdy at this change in play. Cruz's pistons skipped a pump at this sudden movement, and panic began to overtake her as she felt herself drift out of control. But then:

"Hang in there, Cruz! It's just a tap."

Cruz snapped out of her paralyzing stupor at her crew chief's words of support. She corrected her skid and realigned herself, prompting the viewers to go nuts. Cruz's face lit up at the realization that she had recovered from Storm's attempt to sabotage her. She was fine… she was fine!

"Well, would you look at that," Bob Cutlass remarked, watching this act transpire. "Looks like Storm's getting to be a little aggressive, again."

Darrell Cartrip chuckled, clearly enjoying this change in strategy. He peered down at the two rival cars eagerly. "Hey, a little bumping here and there's all part of the game, Bob!"

With the fans' encouraging cries at her back, Cruz pulled ahead even farther this time, in an effort to overtake Storm completely. But she only made it halfway before Storm started making his way toward her again. This time, his contact was a little rougher than just a tap.

But unlike before, Cruz wasn't anxious. Instead, she felt herself growing increasingly frustrated at the number 20's aggressive, relentless display. Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn't he just race normally like everybody else? Why couldn't he just  _leave her alone_? So she could win at least one more time! Cruz held her ground against Storm's increasing pressure from the outside, metal screeching as their sides pushed back against each other. She felt a sudden urge to do something, which she felt ashamed of, but was helpless to prevent from doing.

She pushed back. Storm veered off a little to the inside, his eyes widening, like he didn't expect any resistance. It wasn't the most powerful shove—Cruz didn't have quite the same amount of strength as Storm did. But it was enough to take him off  _his_  line as well. As soon as she did it, though, she felt a wave of shame wash over herself. Cruz had never touched anyone for the few months that she'd been in the Piston Cup. In her mind, ramming fellow racers was playing dirty. After all, she had had it happen to her once before.

But the crowd had a different reaction. They cheered at Cruz's ability to hold her own, which for a second, actually imbued Cruz with pride—pride, nonetheless, which felt tainted. Like it was pride that she had stolen from a baby.

The racers exited turn two and traveled toward turn three. Cruz stared down the approaching turn, finding strength within herself from having retaliated against Storm. McQueen, however, did not share her sentiments.

"Cruz!" he warned her over the headset, his tone lacquered with concern. "I think you should back off. Storm isn't kidding around."

Cruz narrowed her eyes at curve of the wall ahead of her, Storm right by her side like a persistent pest. "I can handle him, Mr. McQueen."

"You don't wanna provoke him into doing something—"

"I said I can handle it!"

The silence on the other end of the line prodded Cruz in the back of her mind, but she had bigger fish to fry. She and Storm were rapidly approaching turn three.

* * *

Jackson Storm was death. He felt like death. They all cheered, cheered for  _her_. The underdog pulling through. The little car that could. The one that everybody  _loved_. No! Why were they rooting for her? He was the better racer, not  _her_. Not her and her saccharine, happy-go-lucky charm. Her and her upbeat attitude—like nothing was ever wrong in her life. Her and all her adoring fans. And her  _friends_!

"Watch out, Storm!" Cruz taunted. "You're not going to be the number 1 racer  _any longer_!"

Storm was livid. "Oh yeah?  _Oh yeah?_  We'll see about  _that!_ "

* * *

This time it wasn't a tap. Storm slammed against Cruz's left side with all his might, propelling her so that she skimmed the the wall. Sparks flew as her metal grinded against the concrete. Storm quickly returned to the inside, however, careful to not place himself in the same compromising position that cost him the first race of the season. The crowd was a frenzied combination of hollers of glee and gasps of shock. Cruz desperately tried to pry herself off the wall, the momentum of Storm's shove making this difficult to do. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing all her energy in her wheels to turn away—lifting her weight off the barrier. By some miracle, she managed to do this, slowly but surely shifting away.

Storm's own thrust actually displaced him from his line, the reactionary force pushing back on him, causing him to fall back. Cruz jumped at the opportunity, revving her engine, blowing all the way past Storm so that he was nothing but a dark smudge in the corner of her left eye.

Cruz came to life. She peered back at Storm's receding figure from her peripheral vision, the raucous sound of the onlookers emboldening her. "Ha!" She passed him! She was going to win! She was going to make it! She was going to make them all proud! She would finally be able to come to her aunt, with hood held high, money in her tires, to tell her, here— _here_  are the fruits of my efforts. She was always meant to be a racer after all. She—

"Cruz, look out!"

"Huh?" Was she forgetting something? What was it? What else could there be?

Suddenly, there it was. It presented itself before her in all its earthly terror. Right before her eyes, coming straight at her at over 200 miles an hour. There it was. Turn number three.

Cruz swerved to avoid it, but she must have turned too hard because the front of the track became the back of the track and then the front again and then—

Darkness.

You… have hit… a wall...


	10. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that the crash at the end of the last chapter isn't really realistic, so I added a line to make it seem that Cruz over-turned and spun into the wall. I guess I could write it to make it even more accurate, but I don't really feel like it, lol. The details aren't too important—it's the impact they have.
> 
> Content Warning: The beginning of this chapter describing Cruz's injury might be a little tiny bit graphic. It's really not that bad, but just in case you're sensitive about that kind of stuff.

Light. Light filtered through her closed lids, dousing the shade before her eyes with the colors of day. Rescuing her from total darkness.

The smells were what hit her next. The potent scent of oil, coolant, and other unidentifiable fluids combined into one overpowering stench. She could discern the quiet hum of vehicles passing to and fro and various clinking sounds in their wake. They echoed from a million miles away before rapidly shooting closer and closer—yanking her back into this world. She stirred out of the realm between unconsciousness and reality, forcing herself among the awake once more.

"Cruz?... Cruz!"

Her name. It sounded like…

Cruz lifted her weary lids, cringing from the stark white lights that blinded her, as well as from the pounding pain that radiated through her left fender and face. She squinted at the blurry blue forms shimmering before her, it taking some seconds for her eyes to adjust.

"Mr... McQueen?"

McQueen's tense, expectant face appeared in her vision. He relaxed at her response, which assured him of her well-being. "Cruz." He jumped back into a rigid stance. "Are you alright? How are you feeling? Can you see us okay?"

Cruz lowered her wobbly gaze down at the various tubes, wires, and contraptions that enveloped her. The whole of her left fender was busted, including a section of her front panel as well. That area of her body was wrapped for support. She found it difficult to move her face and speak, and when she could, pain shot through that part and liquid oozed from the cracks in her exterior.

She examined her surroundings, which consisted of a plain, white-walled room. The walls were decorated with beeping monitors and other medical devices. Curtains closed off her corner of the room from a few other units.

Cruz met McQueen's gaze, searching his deep blue eyes, which were crinkled in concern, as if to find the words with which to reply. "I… I… don' know…"

A familiar blue Porsche moved into her view. "She's still in a little shock, Lightning," Sally told him. She faced Cruz, offering her a gentle smile. "You had a little crash, honey. But the doctor said you'll be fine. It's nothing too serious."

Cruz blinked.  _A crash?_  Her last memories came racing back to her in flashes. Her shoving contest with Storm. Her crew chief warning her to back off. Her frustration at Storm and not being able to win. But she almost had it! Except…

A wave of emotions overcame her. Cruz peered down at the sterile white floor of the hospital, her vision becoming blurry with the tears that filled her eyes.

"I'm… I'm so… sorry, Mr… McQueen," Cruz choked out between winces of pain and sobs.

McQueen's face scrunched up in a mixture of confusion and concern. "Cruz, what you talking about? What is there to be sorry for?"

"I…" Cruz released a shuddering breath. "I should a… listened to you… when you tol' me… to back off…" She broke down into more tears, the drops sliding down her sides and down onto the floor. She couldn't bring herself to meet her mentor's eyes.

McQueen frowned at his mentee's distressed state. He moved up close to Cruz, set on comforting her.

"It's not your fault, Cruz," he reassured, giving her a gentle pat on the right fender, careful not to evoke any pain with this movement. His features grew hard in thought, and he stared down something unseen in the distance. "Storm was the one who was acting out of turn. He caused you to get loose."

Cruz sniffed quietly, attempting to get herself under control. "But that… would a never… happened if… I listened to you!"

McQueen let out a quiet breath, breaking himself from that image of Storm in his head—the object of his fury. "You couldn't have known that that was going to happen. You were just heated in the moment."

He took on a more softer expression, redirecting his attention back at Cruz. "Besides, all that matters is that you're okay. So let's just focus on you getting better, alright?"

Cruz brought her gaze up to her crew chief. He offered her a smile that told her that everything was going to be okay. That he wasn't mad—he wasn't worried. He seemed to have the whole world figured out, and was certain that the two of them would be able to take on whatever came their way. His confidence was something Cruz only dreamed of having. Luckily, some of it manage to rub off onto her. Cruz tried to give him a smile in return, but the most she could do in her condition was grimace.

"Don't push yourself, Cruz," Sally told her as she gave her a soft nudge. "Racing will still be there when you get back."

"Okay…" Cruz's hood shot back up to the couple, the rapid movement causing some pain. "Does… does my family… know?"

McQueen nodded. "Yeah, we found them in the emergency contacts. They're coming as fast as they can."

Cruz sighed, dipping her hood in shame. "I… I hope it's not… too much trouble… for them."

McQueen gave her a look, reminding her to be less hard on herself. "Remember what I said, Cruz? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Cruz nodded, but she was still glum. "Right…"

A commotion came from down the hall outside. There was a shout. Then came the revving of engines, which grew closer and closer until a colorful explosion of Next-Gens burst through into the E.R.

"Cruz!" Danny was the first one at her side. "¿Estás bien?"

Cruz's eyes widened at the unexpected sight of her friends. "Sí? Uh… what are you all—?"

"TWO AT A TIME!" called a highly irritated voice down the corridor. A short, stout, middle-aged forklift nurse rumbled into the room, glaring daggers at the four Next-Gen racers. "I thought I told you boys that we only allow two visitors at a time! It's not safe to have all these vehicles in—"

"How about if Lightning and I leave?" Sally asked politely, endeavoring to diffuse the situation. "Will that be alright?"

The nurse scrutinized her for a moment, giving her a quick up-and-down. She crossed her forks in stubborn defeat. "Fine…"

McQueen threw Cruz a consolatory glance as he and Sally departed.

"We'll be back soon, Cruz," McQueen reassured her when he caught Cruz's eyes following after them, as if she would never see them again.

Cruz smiled to put their minds at ease. As soon as they left, her racing buddies crowded around her, bombarding her with questions and comments.

"Does it hurt?" Ryan asked, his eyes wide.

Bubba looked to Ryan in disbelief. "She spun into the wall, Ryan. Of course it hurts!"

"It's so typical of Storm to do something like this," Chase remarked, shaking his hood disapprovingly.

"What did the doctor say?" Danny inquired, glancing around as if he expected them to appear. "Cruz is going to be okay?"

The nurse forklift cleared her throat loudly, reminding them of her presence. "That's quite enough, boys. Ms. Ramirez needs her space." She squeezed in between their tight-knit circle to review Cruz's vitals.

"What did he say, Nurse?" Danny was eager for an answer.

"I don't know," the nurse stated simply, her eyes lidded in disinterest. "I'm just here to check on her…" The nurse tossed him a glance and noticed his crestfallen expression. She turned back to the monitor. "All I know is that there's no serious structural damage, mostly just external body damage." She gave a dry laugh. "It could have been a lot worse. She could have flipped over or ran straight into the wall head-on. If that happened she might not even be awake right—"

The nurse peered up from her work at the acute sensation that she was being watched. She wheeled around. The male Next-Gens formed a hostile semi-circle, glaring at the nurse and her insensitive comments. She shook her body, as if to rid herself of her crabby attitude.

"Nevermind," she said, her tone sweet and high. "Let's be glad she's alright." She quickly broke off from group, the Next-Gens rolling aside to allow her to pass.

Chase shot a look at her exiting figure. "Geez, what's her problem?"

"Nurses have it rough, man," Ryan told him, like he was an expert on the subject.

Cruz looked from friend to friend. "How… long was I out?"

"Not that long actually," Bubba replied. "We just got back from the race. They brought you to the onsite clinic before sending you here, to the local hospital. We didn't come right away because they wouldn't let all of us in. So it's been like… maybe 45 minutes?"

Cruz jerked back. "Really? I… I guess that's good."

"The main reason you passed out was probably from shock," Chase guessed. "So chances are, you could get back to racing by next week!"

"Really?" Danny and Cruz blurted out at the same time, but with different intonations.

Chase shrugged non-committedly. "I dunno. I mean, it looks worse than it actually is."

Cruz's features drooped. "Do I… really look that… awful?"

"You look beautiful," Danny stated without hesitation. He froze as he realized the weight of his words. All eyes were on him, including Cruz's. They gawked blankly at him in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter. Cruz was the only one who remained silent, simply gazing at him with appreciation.

"Smooth, Danny," Bubba laughed. "Smooth."

Danny glanced off to the side, too embarrassed to meet Cruz's eyes. "You know what I mean, bro."

Cruz couldn't help but break into a smile, albeit, a pain-ridden one. But as the memory of recent events reared their ugly head in her mind, she felt herself turning grim once more.

* * *

Jackson Storm had finished third—his worst performance of the season. With Cruz Ramirez out of the question, he was practically untouchable. He was at the front of the pack. There was nothing that could threaten his place as the reigning leader. But when it came to the re-start, Storm didn't… feel like racing, which actually wasn't a totally foreign concept to him. Not even  _he_  liked doing the same thing  _all_ the time.

But he couldn't figure out why he lost the motivation to win. All that happened was that a competitor had gotten loose, spun out, and collided with a wall. A mere few meters away from him. And her unconscious body drifted toward him. And he had to swerve to miss it. No big deal. He just couldn't understand why his mind was in a fog for the rest of the race. So another racecar crashed—it happened all the time. The Dinoco racer wasn't paying attention to the track, nor to the fact that she was losing control, and she panicked and spun out. It wasn't  _his_  fault. If he were in her situation, he would have been skilled enough to make the turn like everybody else. So it was just a result of her lack of skills and incompetence as a racer. That was it.

After Cruz hit the wall, the emergency crew emerged in a flurry to bring her away. The entire time that Storm had been wrestling with Cruz, Ray had been telling him to calm down. But he never seemed particularly troubled. When Cruz crashed, Ray asked him the conventional, "You alright?" However, after that, Ray was strangely silent on the com for the remainder of the race, aside from a few comments on the positions of the other racers as per usual. Ray's quietness was what unnerved Storm. He couldn't read his crew chief's thoughts, which frustrated him because he was used to being able to read people. Did he approve? Did he disapprove? Did he just not care?

Storm found out soon enough. As he made his way back to pit row to meet his crew chief after the race, he was prepared to have Ray chew him out for taking third. And as he approached, Ray rode down from his podium and drove to meet Storm half-way, a stern expression on his face. But it wasn't the results Ray was concerned about.

"Storm." Ray stated as he settled in front of Storm, as solid and impassive as stone. He appeared a little bigger than usual.

"Hey, Gus." Storm decided to bring out his nickname for the crew chief as a way to relieve the tension. It didn't help.

"You know, I don't mind a little bumpin' every once in awhile," Ray began in a light, conversational tone, which made Storm feel even more uneasy. "But you really lost your temper there, Jackson. And when I told you to cool it too."

Storm scoffed and rolled his eyes to the side. "She'll be fine…" But even still, he cast an expectant glance up at him. "...Right?"

Ray stared back at Storm with such a look of blank disappointment that Storm almost wished he could take back his words.  _Almost._

"Probably, yes," Ray replied finally, but his expression remained unchanged. "But I thought I told you to keep your temper in check."

"Why does it matter?" Storm shot back, suppressing that urge to feel sorry. To feel regretful.

Ray huffed, incredulous of his racer's utter lack of self-awareness. "Because maybe  _next_ time it'll be  _you_  in that ambulance instead of Ramirez."

Storm's eyes widened at the thought of it, his crew chief's words having the desired effect on him. He quickly reassumed an unaffected façade. He wasn't about to let Ray have the satisfaction of seeing him afraid or remorseful. His features grew harder and darker, as if he was attempting to channel all the negative energy in the world. Storm pushed up close to Ray, peering up at him scornfully from the top of his lids.

"No, it  _won't_. You know why? Because I'm an  _excellent_  racer—no, a  _perfect_  racer. Who doesn't need  _you_  or  _anybody else_  to  _help me_ , or  _tell me_  what to  _do_!"

Ray jerked back in surprise at the brooding racer's bold statement. Storm's final word echoed across the pavilion. Ray furrowed his lids, his once calm demeanor beginning to ebb away. At this point, Storm's loud voice had attracted the eyes of several other racers and reporters. But Ray was too outraged to be cognizant of this fact.

He rolled up close to Storm, with an ire in his face like he was ready to give him a talking to—but  _good_. Storm moved back an imperceptible length. Ray Reverham usually had a good grip on his temper, but when he got angry— _he got angry_. "I am your  _crew chief_ , Jackson Storm. It's my  _job_  to tell you what to do. But you don't seem to be  _appreciative_  of my efforts, nor do you seem to care about anybody or anything else but—"

Ray stopped mid-sentence when he suddenly became aware of a rapid clinking sound—like that of metal against metal. He gaped down at Storm, studying his small, indignant form. With the silence, Storm seemed to hear it too. He tore his gaze away from him, glowering down at the asphalt. The noise ceased.

"Jackson…" Ray squinted in disbelief. "Are you… shaking?"

Storm's eyes shot back up to Ray's. He burned holes into his eyes, determined to prove his non-involvement in the occurrence. "What? No, I'm not."

Ray's hard expression softened, and he adopted a more concerned look. Perhaps the racer was more affected by the wreck that he had previously thought. "Look, maybe you should sit down... get yourself a drink of oil or something—"

"I said I'm fine!" Storm snapped, breaking back into that infamous fury of his. He swung around so fast that his tires squealed against the asphalt. Storm raced away, impervious to the hordes of reporters that flanked him on either side. This Storm wouldn't be stopped by anything. Ray could do nothing but watch the racer's seething form grow smaller and smaller—further away than ever. He truly  _was_  untouchable now.

* * *

McQueen and Sally idled side-by-side in the E.R. waiting room. McQueen was the more uneasy of the two. He stared down at the white linoleum flooring, lost in thought. His normally round, confident features were tense and strained. He shifted himself up and down, right to left on his suspension, unable to keep still. Like he had to do something, take action of some sort. But there wasn't nothing else he could do at the moment. That was part of what drove him crazy.

His girlfriend took note of his troubled behavior, her lids drawing up in sympathy.

"She's going to be okay, Stickers," Sally murmured as she gave him a supportive pat.

"I know." But these sentiments alone weren't enough to unglue McQueen's eyes from the floor. "It's just that… I can't help but feel like maybe if I'd done  _more_ …"

Sally shook her hood, holding up a tire to stop him. "Ohh, no. Not you too, mister. Don't you be getting all guilty on me too!"

McQueen smiled and faced her—his faded blue eyes meeting her bright green ones. "Yeah, I guess you're right." His smile faltered. Even Sally's words of encouragement couldn't pull him out of this ditch completely. He diverted his attention back to the floor again. "But lately I've been thinking… maybe crew chiefing… just isn't for me."

Sally tilted her hood, disappointed. "Lightning…"

McQueen turned to Sally once again, a new kind of energy igniting in his eyes—but not necessarily of the good variety. "Think about it, Sal. What's a racer without their crew chief?"

"Well that's why Cruz is so lucky to have you!" Sally countered.

McQueen didn't seem convinced. "But with all the races we've been losing… maybe… maybe I should just stick to racing."

Sally glanced down for a moment, considering this. She looked back up at Lightning, her gaze steady. "...Is that what you really want?" She knew when Lightning had his mind set on something. And she trusted his ability to make the right decision.

McQueen opened his mouth to affirm, but he couldn't manage to utter a sound. He closed it, defeated. As much as he wanted to be, he knew he couldn't be sure just yet. "I don't know. I mean, after this season, I'm going to start racing again, and I can't really be her crew chief  _and_  race."

Sally dipped her hood. He was right there.

McQueen gazed at his girlfriend, a look of uncertainty about the future displayed on his face. "I'm gonna have to decide… aren't I?"

Sally's eyes confirmed this. "What do you think?" she asked.

McQueen scrutinized the door leading into the emergency facility. "Today I realized something, Sal."

"What?"

McQueen moved his lips silently, as if sorting out his thoughts before releasing them out into the open, for all to hear. "That as much as I love racing… I love  _winning_  too…"

Sally adopted a look of understanding.

McQueen shook his hood in disbelief. "I thought I was past that… always wanting to win." He turned to Sally to reassure her. "And I am! For the most part…" He glanced away again. "I just wanna do what I'm best at... Go where I'm most wanted! But..." McQueen abstained from finishing the sentence. But the unsaid was obvious. _But I don't know where that is..._

Sally laid a tire against her boyfriend's side. The two were connected—a single unit. Ready to face this next challenge in their life… together. "Well no matter what you do, Lightning… you'll always be a winner to me…"

The pair exchanged blank stares in silence before bursting into laughter.

"Nice one, Sal," McQueen chuckled. "If that line was any more corny I could have made popcorn out of it!"

"That wasn't very good either, you know!"

The two grinned for a few seconds more, their smiles easing back into relaxed states.

"But I mean it, Lightning," Sally gave him a firm look. "I'll support you in whatever you want to do."

McQueen looked at Sally, and he didn't have a doubt in the world that this was true. "I know…" This statement suddenly seemed to take on a heavier connotation for him. His eyes trailed off into the distance.  _I know…_

* * *

The sun was absent outside Cruz's hospital window. It was 11 p.m., and at this point it had been roughly 6-7 hours since the crash. Almost immediately after her Next-Gen friends left, her family had requested a video chat with her, since it was more than a day's drive to Los Angeles from her town in Texas.

_The forklift nurse from earlier had come in with the laptop on a rolling table. Her disposition was as jaded as ever, but at the very least, she refrained from making any unnecessary small talk. She set the table in front of Cruz, switching to the video chat application._

" _Cruz! Mija!" Aunt Carla exclaimed as her face appeared on the screen. Her expression was filled with concern. "¿Estás bien?"_

_Cruz gave a wry smile. "Wow. Deja vu."_

" _Cruz," Pablo was situated to his mother's right. His eyes were wide in a sort of shocked wonder, as if he couldn't believe it was Cruz he was seeing. "We saw you on the T.V."_

 _Victor peered at Cruz from the other side of their mother, just as bothered. "Yeah, that looked_ _**awful** _ _."_

_Cruz tried to appear happier as a way to dispel their worries, but the action only pained her. "I look worse than I feel… I think..."_

_Aunt Carla looked up from upturned lids. "They're treating you alright?"_

_Cruz waved her off. "Oh yeah. Tons of pain meds. I can't feel a thing!" She felt a twinge in her jaw as she said this, as if her body was spiting her. "Ow."_

_Aunt Carla shook her hood, frowning down at the floor. "I knew that dark race car was no good."_

" _Yeah," Pablo piped up. "Is he gonna get in trouble for this?"_

_Cruz dropped her eyes. "No… he technically didn't crash me…"_

_Pablo's eyes bulged out in protest. "Still! He was the cause!"_

_Cruz tried her best to put her family at ease. "Honestly, guys, this kinda stuff happens all the time! I'll be fine and back out on the track in no time."_

_Silence from the monitor. Cruz refocused on the images of her family on the display. But her family wouldn't look her way. They all seemed to find other parts of the room so much more fascinating at the moment._

_Cruz felt her engine sink. "W… what?"_

_Aunt Carla finally locked back onto Cruz, being the one to speak. She was hesitant—as if testing the waters before diving in. "Maybe racing is too dangerous for you, mija."_

_Cruz felt the world slip through her treads. It was a nightmare come true. Everything that she had dreamed of gaining was fading into dust. The people who supported her, who believed in her, were corroding away. Just like that. Gone in a flash. Like heading straight into the wall. A evanescent light. "What? No… no, it isn't. Honestly, guys, I'm—"_

" _Cruz can do it, Mamá," Pablo didn't hesitate to speak on her behalf. He turned to his mother, beseeching her to agree._

" _Yeah, but what if it's worse next time?" Victor was clearly on another side of the argument. Their eyes leveled in vague antagonism. "What if—"_

" _Aye." Aunt Carla squeezed her eyes shut and shook her hood, as if to block out the dreaded possibility. "No lo digas, mijo."_

_Cruz gawked at them, betrayal clear in her visage. "So, you—you guys don't think I can handle it? That I'll get hurt again?" It was like she was begging for them to pass through the screen and join her, right there, right now. Like, if you're with me, you would be here without actually being here. I would be able to feel you here and **know**  you're with me. But Cruz saw the screen and her family's depictions grow smaller and more distant before her eyes._

_Pablo gazed at her solemnly, in her full support, but unable to do much else. On the other hand, Victor and his mother were opposed. Cruz found it especially difficult to watch her Aunt look so emotionally conflicted. She wanted the best for her niece, but what if her niece's wishes weren't actually the best? On the other hand, would it really be best for those dreams to be terminated?_

" _I'm just worried for you, Cruz," Aunt Carla told her, words which came from the heart. Her warm brown eyes wavered with the screen definition: a once strong, guiding light that was beginning to flicker out._

Cruz heaved a deep breath as she studied the painting on the hospital wall across from her. It depicted a scenic road winding around a beautiful mountainside. That's what it was like to race. It was being in another world apart from this one. A place that transcended nature—that reached somewhere untainted, untouched. But as Cruz closed her eyes, and the familiar darkness greeted her, her vision was consumed by the ghastly sight of the wall. Her lids flew open with a start. She  _would_  get back on the track. She  _had_  to. But what if...?  _What if...?_

* * *

The world outside Jackson Storm's hotel room was dark. The world inside was just as devoid of light. The grey racer lay motionless inside his room, gaping into the darkness that surrounded him every which way. He strained his eyes in search of something to fix on in the blackness, but there was nothing. He was in a state of nothingness—nothingness like sleep, but he was awake. Suspended in a realm where others ceased to exist. It was just him… whoever he was. If he was at all.

To combat his momentary insomnia, he deemed it best to splash some water on himself—to make himself feel clean. Rinsed of all his troubles.

He rolled over to the sink in the bathroom, activating the motion sensors near the faucet with his tires. The water rushed down into the basin—a clear waterfall. But he avoided its graceful touch. Instead, the grey racer lifted his gaze up to the mirror above the sink. He hadn't bothered turning on the lights, so he could barely make out his shadowy reflection. The twinkling city lights from the outside were his only light source—as limited as it was.

A sable form was all that was visible in the glass. Glints of light glimmered off his glossy frame, decorating him in a mystical shimmer. His eyes, however, were completely covered by the night. An empty slate for where they should have been. The grey racer peered back at himself, but was unable to ascertain whether it was himself he was actually seeing. The longer he stared, the more and more convinced he was that it wasn't Jackson Storm that echoed back at him. His imitator's eyes were absent. He closed what he thought were his own, to escape this now darkness.

Darkness. Still darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little carried away with that scene of Storm at the end, haha. I'm kind of sucker for poetic, flowery writing. I hope y'all noticed those parallels I put between Cruz and Storm regarding light and darkness... Admittedly a little pretentious on my part XD
> 
> Yeah, idk, I'm just glad I got this out. This chapter was basically the aftermath of the race. And conflicts are being set up, which will start to develop in the next chapter! Finally.


	11. Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics indicate flashbacks, as per usual. (Also, anyone notice how this chapter's title is the Japanese title of Cars 3? Totally unintentional by the way, haha).

_Three Weeks Later…_

"Okay, Cruz. This is it. Are you ready?"

Cruz gave a firm nod. "Yes. I'm ready."

Cruz and McQueen were at Willy's Butte, a few weeks after Cruz's wreck at the Los Angeles International Speedway. By this point, Cruz's injuries had completely healed, and she was about to race for the very first time since the incident. She and McQueen had traveled down to the dirt track by themselves—this being a personal moment for her.

The two of them settled by the starting line, Cruz closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to prepare herself—McQueen there to race with her for emotional support.

But before they could begin, McQueen had something to get off his chassis.

"Cruz."

The yellow coupé turned to her mentor. "What is it, Mr. McQueen?"

McQueen scrutinized the dirt road, like his words were written in the sand. "I'm sorry for what happened at L.A. International. I'm your crew chief, and I didn't watch out for you like I was supposed to because I was too invested in winning."

Cruz wouldn't hear another word of it.

"It was my fault, Mr. McQueen. You warned me, but I didn't listen because I  _really_ wanted to win…" She looked off into the desert with bitter recollection. "I  _really_  wanted to…" She gritted her teeth with a fierce rue when she said " _really."_ Even now, she wasn't ready to quit.

McQueen detected this impression from her. So they both knew what it was like to have that relentless urge to be the first one across the finish line.

"Don't worry, Cruz." McQueen met her eyes with assuredness. "You've only missed a few weeks. We'll get you back out there, and you'll start winning again in no time."

He adopted a softer look, checking himself before he became too intense again. "But at the end of the day, I'd much rather have you safe and  _not_  injured than winning races, if it means that you'll get hurt again."

Cruz smiled, already feeling tears welling up in her eyes again. Ohhh no, she wasn't going to start crying again. She'd done enough of that the first week of the wreck. But regardless, she was touched by her mentor's support and concern for her well-being.

"Thank you, Mr. McQueen." And she really meant it.

McQueen gave her a smile back before returning his attention to the road ahead of them.

"Okay, are you ready to start racing?" he asked her, livening his tone to get her back in the zone.

Cruz broke into a grin, revving her engine in response.

McQueen was satisfied with this reaction. "Alright!" He faced the track.

"On your mark…"

Cruz smiled, narrowing her eyes at the ridge curving around the butte.

"Get set…"

Cruz's resolute expression faltered. These same starting words echoed from a memory in her past. From years back, at her first, not-really-first race which she ditched because she was too afraid. Too afraid she would fail…

"Go!"

No time to ponder over the past. Go meant go.

Cruz shifted into gear, lurching forward with the sudden increase in acceleration. She hadn't gone this fast in quite a while, so the movement was a little unfamiliar to her. Luckily, she could hear McQueen's engine rumbling beside her, so she knew she was in good treads. She quickly started to pick up speed, and waited for the thrill of the game to overtake her. But it didn't. Because there was a wall.

The canyon wall towered above her, casting its dark shadow over her body. Its sheer size dwarfed her, and somehow, she found, the closer she got, the farther and farther it zoomed away at the speed of light. The shade engulfed her. Sinking deeper, deeper. Darkness. The darkness. But it's a banked turn, I should be fine? But it's a wall. What if I—? What if? Darkness. I can't see. I can't breathe. Falling. Spinning. ...hit a wall… You have… hit…

"CRUZ!"

Cruz snapped out of her panicked stupor, light flooding her vision once more. She had been drifting off toward the inside of the track into the tumbleweeds. She had slowed to about 20 miles per hour, stopping right before the Wall.

McQueen parked himself beside her, gawking at her in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, scanning her body as if he expected her to have an outward injury. "You just blanked out there. What happened?"

But this kind of trauma wasn't the physical kind. Cruz was trembling, breathing heavily. It took her a few moments to recollect herself. She swallowed hard, turning to her mentor at what seemed like the speed of zero.

"I… I can't race."

* * *

For the first time in all his racing career, Jackson Storm was concerned for his future. Ever since the "accident" at the Los Angeles International Speedway, his performance on the race track had been less than satisfactory. He had placed third in two of the three races. His most recent result? Fourth.

The media was stunned. Just what  _had_  happened to Jackson Storm? Was he really just a one-hit wonder? Was he having a bad month? Or were there personal issues interfering with his performance? It seemed only Jackson Storm himself knew.

His sponsor wasn't all that happy either. The big cheese of IGNTR himself never actually graced Storm with his presence (he had really only met him once before), but he  _had_  sent a representative over to chew him out in his place. IGNTR didn't give two shits about what Storm did on or off the track. All they were concerned with was whether he was winning races or not. And he wasn't. So that was the gist of the representative's lecture. All Storm had to do was win another race. Or else there would be… consequences, consequences of which Storm was fairly certain, despite the fact that the sedan from IGNTR didn't specify what they were. He just had to win. Easy, right?

Storm was taking a break from running laps on the simulator that his crew had set up at the hotel at which they were currently staying. Storm rolled off the console, settling by the wall nearest the door. The lights were off. It was dark. The simulator had ceased running, and yet the thoughts running through Storm's head refused to quit.

What  _had_  happened to him? It wasn't like he forgot how to race—because he still could. The simulator showed that he could still hit that top speed of 214. So why was it that he couldn't win on the real track? Was he anxious because of what happened at L.A. International? No, because that wasn't fear he felt while riding the asphalt. It was more like… nothing. But it wasn't nothing, because there was something. Some feeling buried deep within his chassis, threatening to bubble to the surface. Guilt…?

No! Why would he feel guilty? He never felt guilty about McQueen's crash, which occurred on the very same track. He… might have felt a tiny bit regretful for taunting him minutes before the wreck—but it wasn't his fault. It was McQueen's own fault for not retiring soon enough. He had tried to warn him, after all! No… what were some mind games to weed out competition amidst the real threats. Racers like Chick Hicks who deliberately collided with others in hopes of crashing them.  _Those peopl_ e deserved to feel guilty. Not him, who only bumped Ramirez around a bit. That was nothing…

But then why did he feel so empty? Why did he suddenly not care anymore? About winning? The realization shot a unfamiliar panic down to his very core. He had to do well in these next races, or he could kiss his sponsorship goodbye. But for some reason, he wasn't nearly as alarmed as he should have been. Racing was all he had. If he didn't have that… what  _did_  he have?

Luckily, Storm was interrupted from going down a very frightening spiral of thought by Gale's arrival into the room. The door slid open, casting light from the outside hall into the dark, dismal simulator room.

"Jackson?" Gale squinted into the darkness. "Are you there?"

Storm rolled up halfway into the path of the light. "Yeah."

"Oh!" She idled there awkwardly, like she didn't know what to say. "I just… wanted to know what you were doing…"

Storm shrugged. "Simulator stuff. What else?"

Gale's form was darkened by the light beating down from behind her, so it was hard for Storm to see her face. But he could tell from her tone alone what she wanted to know.

"Jackson… are you doing alright?"

Storm sighed. There it was. Just as he expected. Another courtesy question regarding his well-being that he refused to answer. Mainly because even  _he_  didn't know.

"I'm fine," Storm replied, his tone so dismissive it was practically pushing her out of the room. "I'm just having a slump. All racers have slumps. I'll be back in the groove next week."

Gale lowered her gaze. She wasn't getting anything out of him this time. Though she was set on exactly what Jackson's problem was, she knew it wasn't something she could coax out of him by stating it forthright. It would force him back into himself, as a way of denying his true feelings toward the situation. Perhaps this was something he had to come to terms to on his own, before she could offer any aid.

"Wait." Storm studied Gale's dark outline, prompting her to look up. She looked… shinier than usual. "Did you apply some extra polish today or something? You're kind of sparkling."

Gale chuckled with a wave of her tire. "Aww, Jackson. That's so nice of you to say!"

Storm frowned. "Wait, no, that's not what I meant. Like seriously, how come you're—"

Gale suddenly shot up on her suspension. "Wow, would you look at the time!" There wasn't a clock in sight. "I have to go now, Jackson!" She spun around a little too quickly, almost backing into the wall.

But she didn't leave right away. She paused for a moment, facing away from the doorway. She pulled back around slowly.

"I really hope you find your groove again, Jackson... I really do…"

Storm stared back in silence, an unreadable expression on his face. Storm: the master of concealing his true emotions. Storm: who said nothing, but only watched Gale turn away once more. She rode down the bright, distant corridor—the light glinting off of Storm's dark, impassive front. The shadow of the sliding door moved across Storm's solitary form until he was covered in total darkness once more.

* * *

Cruz took a deep breath.

She had just gotten back from Willy's Butte when, before she or McQueen could even begin to explain her current dilemma to the rest of the town, Sally informed her that her Next-Gen friends had called her on the video phone not a minute ago. And before she had even finished relaying this fact, the phone rang again. Cruz would have no choice but to face her friends, minutes after making her horrifying self-discovery.

She had parked herself in front of the receiver, allowing it to ring for a moment longer.

She released her breath.

"Hey, Cruz!"

A rainbow of Next-Gens crowded around the monitor, peering out at her with an eagerness to assess her current condition, in consideration of her recent crash.

Cruz forced on the best "I'm totally fine" smile she could manage. "Hi, guys!"

Danny wasn't fooled for a second.

"Cruz, what's wrong?" he asked, not skipping a beat.

Cruz watched as the rest of the boys' faces morphed into concern, and she wasn't sure she could convince them of her well-being anymore.

Cruz glanced off to the side, unable to meet their anxious gaze. "Well, uh," she chuckled like it was nothing, "It's just one itty bitty problem…"

The Next-Gens leaned in close, awaiting a response.

"I, uh…" Cruz bit the bullet. "I'mtooafraidtorace."

The racers gawked in confusion, perhaps not hearing her well enough. Perhaps they heard her just fine.

"What did you say, Cruz?" Bubba asked, shock creeping into his demeanor.

Cruz blew out some breath and hung her hood, defeated. "I can't race, guys! The wreck! I just—I just freeze up!"

Their features wilted in unison. They were hoping it wasn't what they thought it was. But it was. They had heard of situations like this before. Some racers who got into really bad wrecks were both emotionally and mentally traumatized to the point that they couldn't race. Most of the time it was a short-term, temporary issue. But in a very few cases… And Cruz's wreck wasn't even that bad!

Danny lifted his hood almost immediately as his companions were still pondering the options.

"Come here, Cruz," Danny stated, staring directly into Cruz's eyes.

Cruz gave a confused laugh. "Uh, not sure I can do that, Danny. You're in the phone!"

Danny's gaze never faltered. "Come visit us—we're in Atlanta right now, but we'll be at Charlotte for the next race."

Cruz thought for a moment. "Charlotte? You mean the speedway in Concord…?" She started with a sudden realization. "Thomasville is not too far from there!"

The others began to follow her train of thought.

"Cruz," Chase looked out at her, hoping that she knew what she was doing, "Are you going to…?"

Cruz straightened up on her suspension, her hood held high. The mere thought of returning to that racetrack—that sacred place, was enough to reinvigorate her.

"Yes," she stated. "If Mr. McQueen could learn how to race again there, then so can I!"

The Next-Gens watched her in awe for a moment before exchanging affirmative looks. They all turned to her with determination clear in their aspects.

"We'll help you, Cruz," Ryan told her. "We'll help you to win again."

* * *

"Thomasville?"

Cruz nodded. "Not only will I have Smokey and the others there to help coach me, my friends are going to be there too."

McQueen turned this over in his head, nodding as he became convinced. "Yeah… yeah, that's a good idea." He turned to face Sally, who was right by his side.

"I guess I'll be going with her, then" he told her, and he was a bit regretful in saying it. Sally didn't show any outward dissent, but McQueen knew her well enough to sense that there was some sadness in her eyes.

"You're her crew chief after all," Sally admitted, giving him a small smile.

Cruz watched this transaction unfold with a dilemma appearing on her countenance.

"Actually—!"

McQueen had already turned around to head back to the Cozy Cone to retrieve some belongings when Cruz spoke up. He stopped and wheeled back around.

"You can stay here, Mr. McQueen," Cruz said, and she hoped she sounded as reassuring as possible. "I'll be fine on my own—don't worry."

McQueen's expression fell and Cruz felt a tinge of regret.

He searched the ground for something with which to respond, quite frankly, at a loss. "But Cruz, I'm…" He rolled up closer, glancing up at her. "I'm your  _crew chief_ , I need to be there!"

Cruz thought for a moment, trying to decide how to best word her concerns. How to hint toward what she thought were his more pressing matters.

But McQueen brought up another topic before she could even utter a word.

"Is this… is this about what happened at L.A.?" He frowned at the memory of his past actions. Of his mistakes. "Because I promise I'll do better this time…  _we'll_  do better."

Cruz shook her hood. "That's not it, Mr. McQueen." She locked eyes with him, there being no doubt in her mind of the next statement. "You're the best crew chief I could ask for."

McQueen was taken aback by this compliment before settling into an expression of both relief and appreciation.

"I just..." Cruz glimpsed Sally still waiting behind McQueen a little ways off. "I just think there's other people that need you more right now…"

McQueen studied Cruz for a moment, trying to gain her meaning. But it hadn't quite dawned on him yet… Maybe it would eventually.

Nevertheless, he relented.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked, overprotective as usual.

Cruz smiled, and this time it was genuine. "Yes, Mr. McQueen. I'll be in good company."

McQueen gave her a half-smile back to show that he accepted, and Cruz rolled over to Flo's Cafe, leaving him and Sally alone together.

The couple watched the yellow race car cruise away, McQueen looking the more apprehensive of the two.

"She'll be fine, Stickers," Sally reassured him, noticing his concern.

"I know…" He huffed a sigh. "I just thought she'd want me to go with her…"

Sally comforted him with a nudge. "You know Cruz. She cares more about others than she does about herself…" She took on a more playful expression, giving her boyfriend a tap. "She's probably just afraid you won't make it all the way to Concord."

McQueen chuckled, despite it being yet another jab at his age. "That's true…" He sobered at a sudden realization. "But that's why we have haulers to tow us around…" His face contorted into an expression of even greater intrigue.

"Speaking of haulers, where is it that Mack keeps disappearing to anyway?"

* * *

Another night, another 12 hours of sleeplessness. Storm had forsaken the darkness of his hotel room in exchange for the darkness of the outdoor pool area at the dead of night. He rode up to the poolside, peering down at his reflection in the water, which was partly illuminated by the half-moon's glow. The tiles surrounding the edge of the blue were cool and damp under his tires. The smell of chlorine rose up from the oscillating waves. The atmosphere was quiet, with nothing but the hum of the pool motor filling the still air. But he could still hear it. The subtle creak of a garage door opening…

" _Jackson?"_

" _What? I'm trying to sleep."_

" _I just…"_

Open your eyes you idiot, she's trying to tell you something.

_He can feel her roll up close to him, but he's half-asleep and he doesn't care. And maybe he's dreaming all this, but he feels a gentle tire against his side._

" _Sleep tight, Jackie."_

She's leaving, open your eyes.

_He knows that something is happening and he cracks open his lids, just out of vague curiosity. The lights are off so he can't see anything, but he_ _ **can**_   _hear the garage door of his room slide down again with a click and he can barely make out the silver glitter of a metal surface disappearing down the hall._

She's gone… Maybe if you'd open your eyes you could have stopped her, but you refused to because you're a fool. You made a mistake and now it's too late. Too late…

He tore his eyes away from the boy in the water.

I regret it… I regret things… I… regret  _that_  too…

"Jackson?"

Storm shot up to the surface again from his deepsea thoughts, so much so that he started quite a bit. He mentally chastised himself for such a pathetic display. Normally he wouldn't have been so caught off guard. He blamed his lack of adequate sleep for his inattentiveness.

Storm turned to the voice next to him, that of which he knew well.

"Gus." Storm returned to the boy in the water without another moment's hesitation.

Ray sighed, rolling up beside him on the poolside. "I thought I told you not to call me that anymore."

"Fits."

Ray was 110% done. "Storm, it's late. You really can't keep staying up like this—it'll bring down your performance."

Storm watched the dark image in the water quiver in the breeze.

Ray studied his listless form, and it seemed he was wavering with his reflection. "It already has…"

Storm groaned, his patience snapping like a timing belt at that very moment. "Just get off my back."

Ray jerked back in surprise for a moment before narrowing his eyes, ready to reprimand him for the backtalk. But he must have recalled a very similar moment at the race a few weeks ago, because he relaxed back into a slackened position. Getting angry at him wouldn't solve a thing, but rather make it worse. He had to guide him and help him, rather than chew him out.

"What's going on with you, Jackson?" Ray asked, hoping he could get to the bottom of this.

But Storm was already rock bottom, and too far for Ray to reach. He was mesmerized by his rippling reflection, the glowing squiggles glancing off his dark face, dappling it in eerie light. Splitting him into pieces.

"Is it the wreck? Is that it?"

Storm watched his mirror's eyes widen in surprise.

"No," Jackson Storm himself was as cool as ice, or at least he hoped he was, "I just don't feel like racing as much as I used to…"

Ray wasn't satisfied with this answer. "Well, if you don't feel like racing soon, you'll know what'll happen…"

Storm's face darkened further, if that was even possible. He was well aware, and didn't need to be told twice. " _I know_. I'll get the boot."

Ray thought for a moment, considering all the options. "You've been on the simulator quite a bit. Why don't you try practicing on a real track once we get to Concord?"

Storm snorted. "Yeah, like that's what I need."

Ray swiveled around to face Storm, giving him his full undivided attention. Ready for any smart ideas of his. "Well what do  _you_  want to do?"

Storm studied the dark racer in the water, wishing he could ask it that question, instead of having to answer it for himself. What  _did_  he want to do? Go to Concord and find a track to practice on? Would that really do the trick?...

Well, one thing was for sure—Cruz Ramirez wouldn't be there.

Ray interpreted his silence as compliance.

"We head out at 9 tomorrow," Ray told him as he swung around and headed back into the hotel.

Storm listened to the rumble of Ray's engine fade away. He didn't turn his hood, didn't bother to watch him go. Instead, he watched the reflection of the man in the water, which somehow became still once more.

It was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another kind of transition chapter, which introduces the main conflict for Cruz. You also get to see a little foreshadowing to the future of Sally and Lightning's relationship. And then Storm himself. So this means that a lot is going to happen next chapter! Should be a fun one :P
> 
> Just to clarify, the moment when Cruz has an anxiety attack is deliberately confusing because I changed the P.O.V. a couple times. Same goes to Jackson's scene at the very end, in which I also switched around the P.O.V.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I hope my depiction of Cruz's anxiety was accurate (it happens in the first scene). I wouldn't say that she has full-blown PTSD, but she is traumatized in the sense that she gets too anxious to race anymore (so she has short-term symptoms). Also, her anxiety lies outside of just flashbacks of the crash, but more in her fear that she'll mess up and wreck again. Basically her self-confidence issues are cropping up, and that because of her wreck, she's afraid that she's not as good as she thought she was.
> 
> I was intrigued by the idea when watching Cars 3, and how Lightning was seemingly unaffected by his crash in regards to any psychological trauma. So I wanted to see what would happen if a wreck happened to a racer like Cruz, who isn't as confident and self-assured. (I'm aware that wrecks in NASCAR happen all the time, and that they don't often traumatize racers, but since the cars in Cars are cars, I thought it might be a little different, if that makes any sense). The closest thing I've seen for this kind of trauma is what they did with one of the characters in the first Planes movie (if you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about).
> 
> If there are any inaccuracies with this, feel free to let me know! I know at least a little bit about mental health, but I don't know an awful lot about topics pertaining to psychological trauma. I'm by no means an expert.


	12. Just the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [EDIT: Added back in the two scenes with Storm and his pitties with slightly edited dialogue. May be subject to change more later, but probably not.]
> 
> From now on, I'm going to be referring to Lightning as Lightning, rather than McQueen. I've just been writing him as Lightning a lot in my other works so I feel more comfortable with using it. Also, Lightning is more personal than McQueen, despite the fact that they almost exclusively refer to Lightning as McQueen in the movies. I'm not going to go back and change his name in the previous chapters (at least for now) because I'm too lazy. Also, perhaps it's fitting to start calling Lightning Lightning here?...

_A Few Days Later..._

An orange sports coupé cruised through the gates of the newly renovated Thomasville Speedway, out through the passageway, and onto the track. The location, which had previously been abandoned, was restored to its original beauty (along with a golden statue of the Hudson Hornet himself out front to match). The wooden stands were replaced and repainted, in addition to the press box, whose windows had been shattered and boarded up. The once dilapidated and faded signs displaying the name of the speedway came back to life—its red and white colors ringing loud and clear, priding itself on its rich past and even more exciting future.

While the speedway attracted a greater number of racers and visitors after its rebirth, it still retained some of its local, rustic charm. It was nestled within a gaggle of towering, lush pine trees surrounding the stadium—visible enough, while still being the town's own little, exclusive secret. Currently, there was not another soul in sight, but this was mainly due to the fact that it was 6 A.M. on a weekday, and races were held during the weekend at more… conceivable hours.

The orange coupé rolled onto the dirt track, set out on a specific purpose. But before she could move another inch, she spoke out, seemingly to the wind:

"Hamilton: call Danny."

The British voice from within her fender rang out: "Calling Danny."

The phone rang a few times before someone answered.

"Hey, Cruz. You there yet?"

Cruz, the now orange coupé (painted as such to protect her identity), replied, "Yeah, I'm here! I'm at the Thomasville track."

"You're there already?" There came the muffled sound of other cars whooshing by. "We're still drivin' there now!"

Cruz dismissed him with a wave of her tire. "Take your time. I'll be fine!"

Danny paused for a moment, considering this. "Okay, then. Just be careful, Cruz. Don't do nothing dangerous."

Cruz smiled, though she knew Danny couldn't see her. "I know."

She hung up, turning her attention back to the track, donning a more solemn expression. The absence of her voice or Danny's echoed across the empty pavilion. The silence both isolated and steeled her for her imminent challenge. This was it. This place, that must have possessed some kind of ancient magic, would be the key to helping her find her speed again.

She closed her eyes, shifting the dirt under her tires with the twist of her wheels. The air was warm, but not to the point of it being hot. The day was still young—the sun having not yet risen fully to the zenith.

Cruz cleared her mind so that she could make out the faint noise of cars bustling by in the distance. The rustle of pine leaves shuttered up in the treetops. The smell of the dirt and dust mixed with that pine breeze scent. She was alone, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

She channeled her anxiety, transforming it into the energy she needed to rip through that dirt. Focus that energy deep within your chassis. Focus...

"Speed… I am…"

"You can't be serious."

Cruz's lids flew open at the very voice that haunted her nightmares. Jackson Storm, in all his glory, was emerging from the darkness of the tunnel, like a villain from the shadows.

"Storm?"

Storm smirked, the early morning glow reflecting off his lustrous grey body. The clouds in the sky rose in his eyes as he moved into the light. "First you dress up as me, and now you repeat McQueen's catch phrases to yourself. You really are just a  _Costume Girl_." He practically spat out that nickname, the beginning consonants clear and hard.

Cruz felt her body clench at the sight of him, as well as at the mere sound of the smug-faced racecar and the low purr of his engine. She sorely regretted ever initiating any sort of contact with the racer. McQueen was right. She should have stayed far away from him—in more ways than one.

As Storm grew near, Cruz felt as if she was experiencing a living nightmare. The closer he got, the more and more afraid she became of him—like he was a ghost and that if he got close enough, the lights would flicker out, and it'd just be the two of them alone in the dark. The darkness. Out of all the places he could have been, he just  _had_  to come here.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" Cruz asked, but it was less accusatory and more wary. She just  _had_  to know what his intentions were so she could determine her next steps. She rolled back an inch.

Storm parked in front of the wired fence, still a fair distance away from her. Cruz relaxed when he did this. But of course. He wasn't some monster. She had nothing to fear. And yet… she didn't need him to come any closer.

"What else—to race? In case you haven't noticed, this track doesn't belong to just you." The smartass, as always.

Cruz frowned, regaining some confidence. "I was here first."

Storm was unmoved—both emotionally and physically. "And I'm not leaving."

Cruz scrutinized his firmly planted figure, attempting to figure him out the way he always figured her out. But all she could detect were the reflections of the clouds cloaking his carbon fiber. "...Fine. Just let me try doing one lap, and then you can go after me."

Storm cocked a lid. "...try?"

Cruz ignored his query. She faced the starting line. The Wall. Briefly, she reconsidered Storm's arrival. Maybe since he was there watching her, his presence would intimidate her into making the turn. She could feel his judging eyes on her without even looking his way. Was this a good or a bad thing?

Regardless, she closed her eyes once more and inhaled deeply. Focus. Take all those negative, distracting thoughts and mold them into the courage and confidence to push through. That was her speciality, after all. It would work for her too, wouldn't it?

She exhaled, opening her eyes. Better not give it too much thought, or she'd never get started.

She lurched forward before she had another chance to reconsider, picking up speed as she grew closer and closer to the wall. But the Thomasville Speedway was nowhere near the length of the Piston Cup courses, so she was already at turn one before she knew it. Instead of the darkness, it was the anxiety that consumed her. Cruz felt as if her inner mechanisms were threatening to tear her apart from the inside. That dreadful pressure—physical, but maybe also emotional—built proportionally to the closing distance.  _I can't make it… I can't make it… I can almost hearing him laughing now..._

Down… down went her speed until she stopped in the bend. She sighed and turned back around, heading to the starting line—which was beginning to feel like a finish line ( _I'm finished_ , she thought). She returned with her hood hung low, not being able to bear witness to Storm's reaction, which she knew couldn't be anything but debilitating to her.

Storm's face contorted in a mixture of confusion and amusement. "Pft, what was  _that_?" Yep, nothing but words of encouragement from him.

Cruz disregarded his remark. "You can practice for a little while if you want now."

Storm squinted at her. Now it was  _his_  turn to try and figure her out. But he couldn't quite ascertain what was going on with her either. Maybe it was because he didn't understand. What is was like, that is. Or maybe he knew far too well.

Regardless, he revved up onto the track, with Cruz taking his place by the fence.

Once Storm reached the starting line, he spun off into the dirt without another moment's hesitation (perhaps eager to display his aptitude), clouds billowing out from behind his wheels. But as he approached the very wall that blocked Cruz, it seemed to impede him too, but in a different way. Storm entered the turn how he normally would on a regular asphalt track. And that was precisely the problem. Storm realized his mistake a little too late, and desperately tried to avoid hitting the wall, but he couldn't help but brush against it as he wobbled around the bend. He was a pinball bouncing around in a pinball machine, helpless to the forces of momentum. He scowled, gritting his teeth in an attempt to banish his embarrassment. Not only had he messed up this lap, but he did so in the presence of one of his greatest rivals.

Cruz couldn't help but smirk at how much Storm struggled to get around the oval. Unlike her though, Storm refused to give up so quickly. He made it all the way around, but not without spending a lot of quality time with the barrier.

Storm returned to the start, looking a little more than ruffled, sunk down low and stiff to the ground. In an attempt to appear as dignified as possible, like an eagle. Except he more resembled a humiliated puppy. A puppy sullied by the dirt—which he very subtly tried to shake off.

"This isn't asphalt, Storm," Cruz told him, considerably more cheered up by Storm's pathetic state.

Storm glowered at her. Like he didn't know already. He hated being treated like that. Like an inferior. Like she was the teacher, and she was trying to teach him. "I can see that, Ramirez."

Cruz studied him for a moment, the trace of an idea forming on her face. Perhaps there was a way to make the best of this situation. Maybe a demonstration for someone else would ease her back into racing herself. She rode back onto the track, giving a wave for him to follow. "Come on, I'll show you."

Storm remained fixed to the ground. Just as he thought—the Costume Girl wanted to be a teacher. "Ha, no thanks. I don't need to know how to race on a dirt track when I'm already a master of the asphalt."

Cruz stopped and swiveled back around, unimpressed. "Really?"

Storm narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'really?"

Cruz held his gaze, and she responded not with mockery, but something akin to curious concern. "You've been losing the past few races."

Storm's eyes grew wide. She had him there. There was no denying that fact, so Storm had to find another way to wiggle out of this one. He glared and redirected his frustrations toward her. "Well what about you? You can't even do a single lap!" He gave her a once-over, eying her like she was a piece of junk, not even worthy of his gaze. "That wreck must have really done a number on you, Ramirez."

Cruz's face fell, and the reality of the situation came crashing back down on her. "More than you think…"

Storm was growing increasingly frustrated at her lack of explanation. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Cruz dropped her gaze, turning away from him so that he wouldn't see her face. So he wouldn't be able to tell just as well that she wasn't— _couldn't_  be him. So she would no longer see her own orange face glint off his still reflective surface. "You wouldn't get it… nothing ever bothers you… You're so…  _perfect_ …"

Storm's tense expression fell slack. Him?  _Perfect?_ It was true though… wasn't it? Jackson Storm was a shot-for-shot replica of perfection itself. His glorious life was envied by all. His racing stats went down in the record book. He could do no wrong, and nothing ever wronged him, nor made him  _feel_  wrong. Because he never did anything that lied outside of perfect—the dictionary definition under which his face appeared.

But there  _was_  something wrong, because Storm didn't feel right. He opened his mouth, creeping forward to Cruz's turned away form because he wanted her to tell him what was wrong. Because there was something missing in him that destroyed that picture perfect Storm, and he had to know what it was. He had to know how to find it. And maybe she had that thing that he didn't have. All it took was one little phrase...

But that phrase never came, because Cruz's Next-Gen friends arrived in its place.

Danny meandered over to Cruz, not initially noticing Storm's presence. "Hey, Cruz, we're—" And then he saw him.

Danny revved up to Cruz's side, along with the rest of the racers who caught the despicable sight of Mr. Wonderful himself.

"Storm?" Danny wanted him  _out._

Chase, the always advocate against racers like Storm, joined in. "What's  _he_  doing here?"

Bubba glanced over at Cruz, gauging her reaction. "Not to bother Cruz, I hope."

Storm lidded his eyes. "Uh, I'm right here."

Chase's eyes ricocheted back to Storm's like a magnet. "Well what is it, Storm? Are you here to race?"

The lone racer's gaze drifted off to the side. "I was… until you guys showed up…"

Ryan's lids drew up in surprise. "You were going to race Cruz?"

Storm started at the very suggestion. Like he would come all this way to race with her! To talk to her, to ask her— No, he had no idea she would be there… But then there she was, so it was the perfect opportunity to say— "That… that's not what I meant! I was coming here to race alone." The anxiety faded from him again. "But evidently, I'm not alone here, so I'll just be going elsewhere."

Chase shrugged. "Fine with us." But his eyes told a different, more antagonistic story.

Storm stared down the hostile male racers, swinging around to head out through the tunnel. But he didn't pass Cruz with the same look. Instead, for a split second, he shot her a glance of… something. Like this wasn't over yet. Like maybe he still had something to say. Something… important. Cruz caught this betrayal of emotion and she blinked back in curiosity, but just as she did, Storm averted his eyes. Then his backside was facing them again and he was closed off, rolling back out into the real world.

Danny moved beside Cruz and joined her in watching him leave. "Did he say something to you, Cruz?"

Cruz followed Storm's receding form with her eyes, observing him vanish back into the darkness of the overpass. "No, he…"

Danny looked to her, and somehow, he had an inkling that there was something going on between them that he wasn't aware of. "What?"

Cruz shook her hood, banishing her mind of all things Jackson Storm. She no longer wished for him to occupy her thoughts. After all, what use was it to ponder over someone you couldn't help?

"He didn't say a thing."

* * *

Cruz Ramirez. Cruz Ramirez and her friends. Or should he say, her bodyguards. Her loyal dogs.

Storm shook his hood, narrowing his eyes bitterly at the visual image of Cruz's buddies defending her at Thomasville. Making him out to be the villain. Like he was something to be despised. They didn't even know.

Storm had finally arrived back at the motel in Concord, the city of where the next race at the Charlotte Motor Speedway would be held. He cruised into the building, which was beginning to rouse from an early morning slumber.

He spotted his two pitties, Eli and Toby, mingling in the hotel lobby. If he had to be honest, it was a little hard telling them apart. They were practically indistinguishable save for their eyes. Eli's eyes were a bright green, while Toby's were a soft brown. Eli was also the more talkative of the pair, while Toby was a little more laid-back. Besides that though, they were two peas in a pod. Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Storm prepared to leave for his room, but his eyes latched onto the sight of Eli and Toby chatting among themselves. One would say something that would prompt the other to laugh. They were shooting the breeze, having a great time together. As good friends do.

Storm stopped before the elevator and wound back around to where his two pitties were located. He didn't have the closest relationship with them. Mainly professional—like all the rest of his relationships were with people. They laughed at his poor attempts at humor, and generally indulged in the way he would treat others. But at the end of the day, they went their separate ways. They would probably never think of inviting him to hang out with them. Well… maybe today would be the day.

"Eli," Storm greeted casually as he approached, attracting their attention. "Toby."

"Hey, Storm," Eli replied, with Toby giving a jerk of his hood in response.

"What are you doing up so early?" Eli asked, quirking his lid.

"Yeah, we're off today," Toby added.

Storm met their gazes evenly. "I could say the same for you two."

Eli and Toby exchanged a look, which only boiled Storm's oil. An inside thought. Something he wasn't privy to—no, deliberately left out of!

"We were just about to head to CJ's for some breakfast," Eli explained. He grimaced, shooting glances at the hotel from the corner of his eyes. "This place's too expensive. Not to mention their food is shit."

"Huh." Storm studied the two pitties, and the pitties stared back, knowing that they were being scrutinized. Becoming aware of what Storm was thinking. They waited for his response.

"I'll come with," Storm stated, because that way, there wouldn't be a chance of him being rejected.

Eli and Toby released breaths they didn't know they were holding. Well, they were stuck with him now.

"Alright then," Eli replied. That was the way it was, no two ways about it. The three of them rode out through the hotel entrance. "But you're paying. You're the rich hotshot racer, after all."

* * *

 

Lightning and Sally were having breakfast at the outdoor dining area of the Wheel Well. It was breakfast, and not lunch, because at 8 A.M., the desert climate didn't quite fry the town like it did at around 3 to 4 in the afternoon.

They were at their usual table—the one that was practically their own—overlooking the vast expanse of Carburetor County. The sun was already high in the sky, and the two of them were beginning to feel the elements. But they didn't mind. This was their spot, the place where, once upon time, they had bonded over the town's rich history. The spot where they had shared so many fond memories together.

Lightning sighed, his contentment tinged with fatigue. He looked across at Sally. "Just how long has it been since we've had some alone time together?"

Sally gave a laugh. "Don't jinx it, or Mater'll come asking for our order because we know it."

Lightning laughed in turn, and the two of them indulged in this moment for a little while longer. Their laughter gradually died away, and the next second they inhaled and exhaled in unison. They were synchronous—a single unit. A habit they had developed after spending so much time together. Even when they were apart, usually due to Lightning's on-the-road career, they were together in racing. Sally would watch her partner on the screen, and when he was racing, it was like she was racing too. Sally's supportive presence was always with Lightning, something that couldn't be erased with distance. Something that could bridged with a simple thought.

Lightning's peaceful expression faltered, and he focused on the tabletop. "Well, I definitely must have jinxed it, because now I'm wondering if Cruz is doing alright."

Sally passed him a firm, but reassuring look. "She's a grown car, Stickers. She can take care of herself."

Lightning tilted his hood to the side in vague agreement. "Yeah, but I still feel like I should be there for her…"

Sally's own happiness faded from her disposition. She lowered her eyes, helpless to stop a little sadness from entering her expression. She quickly became aware of it, though, and forced on a vaguely melancholic smile in exchange. "Right. Even when you're a crew chief, the job's never done."

Lightning rose his hood at this statement, leveling his gaze with Sally's. He was prepared to discuss something important. A subject that he had been pushing off to the side for far too long. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Sally."

Sally stared back with mixed anticipation. "Yeah?"

Lightning dipped his hood in a curt nod. "Racing… but not  _just_  racing…  _us_."

Sally mimicked the same movement. She knew what this was about.

Lightning pushed back from the table and angled his body toward the view. He stared out into his past, the way the two of them had gazed out at the town's past that day many years ago.

"You know, back when I was just a hotshot rookie, I thought I'd never settle down. That my heart was stolen by racing, and nothing else."

Sally's features grew soft in response to this statement. She had an inkling of what his true meaning was.

"But then I met you," And Lightning swung right back in Sally's direction and their eyes connected, "And well… I wasn't so sure anymore…"

Sally broke into a warm smile.

"And for the longest time… I thought I had to choose." Lightning frowned down at the table in thought. "But becoming Cruz's crew chief made me realize that things aren't so simple. There's more to racing than just  _racing_."

Sally drew up her lids, having something to say herself. "Lightning."

Lightning glanced back up at the sound of his name. He met Sally with slightly wider eyes, creeping in closer.

"I guess you must have noticed, then…" And she seemed sorry to say it.

"What?"

"That it sucks when you're gone."

Lightning's gaze fell away. Now that the words were out in the open, they hit him hard. Guilt overcame him—guilt that he wasn't fully cognizant of until now. That "always being away" feeling that he had held subconsciously, but never addressed. That struggle of finding a way to balance his racing life with his personal life. That question of, "Can I truly have both?"

"I know."

Confidence built up in Sally's demeanor once more. "But it'll work."

Lightning's mouth fell slightly agape. "Really?"

Sally straightened up on her suspension. His everlasting support. "Yes, Lightning. Your life is racing. But racing is family too."

Lightning looked off past Sally, this idea beginning to become clear in his mind. He just needed some seconds for it to finally shape itself.

"Racing is what brought us together, and it's what'll  _keep_  us together."

Understanding made its way into Lightning's expression, but was dappled with doubt once more. "But even if we wanted to start a family of our own, do you think… it'll still work?"

Sally's green eyes glittered in the sunlight, and Lightning could make out his own reflection in them. "We'll make it work. We always do."

Lightning took this in. He never realized it until now, but somehow… it was like he had always known. Racing for him wasn't just about winning. But it wasn't just about feeling the rush of moving 200 miles an hour, inches from the other guys, pushing himself faster than he thought he could go either. It was about working as a team, and that team extended past just his crew. Because his crew was his family, and those who cheered him on from the pits, or from in front of the television set in Radiator Springs—they were his family too. Racing and family. Two parts integral to his life—impossible for one to exist without the other.

"You'll always have racing for as long as you have us, Lightning." It was like Sally could read his very thoughts.

Lightning peered up at his partner like a puppy would at something curious. "So my racing… isn't over?"

Sally gave him a smile with something eager hidden within it. Like she was looking off into their new future together. "It's just beginning…" She shrugged. "It just looks a little different than from how it used to look."

Lightning returned her smile. He was convinced. His racing wasn't a burden on Sally, nor was it a hindrance to their future plans together. It was a part of them both. And before he even knew it, 11 years had passed and they were still doing this. Both racing and being together. And if that wasn't a testament to how strong their bond was, what was? Marriage, starting their own family. These were life goals that didn't have to tear Lightning from the track. As he had learned, racing was more than just wearing a number in the Piston Cup. Racer, crew chief, who knows what other options awaited him? But they'd cross that bridge when they came to it...

The couple waded together in the after effects of their shared realization. So they could be together now… as more than just boy and girl, but…

The two of them glanced up at each other, seeming to make this realization at the exact same time. They mirrored amused grins.

"Wow…"Lightning looked on with a sort of awe, "Did we just decide to get married?"

Sally grinned pleasantly. "We sure did."

Lightning shook his hood in facetious disappointment. "And I had this whole thing planned too."

Saly cocked a lid. "Did you?"

Lightning's eyes shot over to Sally's. "Of course I did! I've been waiting for this day for over 11 years!"

Sally chuckled before adopting a playful look. "Well… maybe you can still do it?"

Lightning caught onto her meaning, returning her look with one of equal tease. "Maybe."

Sally smiled back.

* * *

A couple hours later, and Cruz and the Next-Gens were still at the Thomasville Speedway. Still racing. Well,  _Cruz_  was racing. But she wasn't really. What she was doing couldn't be called racing. The dirt leading up to the first turn was heavily ingrained with her tire tracks—evidence of try, try again.

By this point, the sun was higher in the sky, dispelling the track of darkness. But the dreariness was still there, it was simply exchanged in the form of unrelenting sun and heat.

As Cruz wound around to the starting line for what seemed like the nth time in a endless, hellish loop of tries, her four friends were sitting by the fence, watching her with squinted eyes. They were patient. They tried running the lap with her, tried coaching her through her fears, tried starting out slow, then picking up speed. The most they could make her do was go around the track at no more than 20 mph, but that wasn't racing. Not quite. Cruz just couldn't race at her top speed of 211 mph (and just when she had reached that speed too!). Not even anywhere near it yet. And Cruz was beginning to fear that if she did get somewhere past 100, she would never be as good as she once was… especially not as good as Storm.

The boys had tried it all, but their patience wasn't a limitless pool—not in this heat anyway. No, it was starting to run evaporate with the heat, and while they remained positive, they were beginning to feel that it was time to call it a day.

"Okay, let's give this one more shot, Cruz!" Chase called from his spot some meters away.

"You can do it!" Bubba threw in for good measure.

Danny was as confident as ever. "You got this, Cruz! You don't got nothing to worry about, we're all here!"

Cruz tossed them a quick "thank you" smile before re-focusing on the track ahead of her. By this point, she didn't become as completely disoriented as she did the first time she tried making the turn back at Willy's Butte with McQueen. But the mounting panic that surged inside of her whenever she got close to that Wall, during the times when she gathered speed above 100, refused to leave. That mental block—mental  _wall_  stopped her from going all the way. It was more than just, "What if I don't make it," but "What if I do, and I'm not as good as I was before?"

Cruz readied herself, despite her troubling thoughts. The one thing she could do was try. And she wouldn't give up trying just yet.

Cruz shifted into gear, starting out at a reasonable, steady pace. She could feel her friends eyes on her, watching, holding their breaths in anticipation. They were expecting her to make the turn. But… what if she didn't? What if she brushed against the wall, like Storm did? Or maybe she hit it again? Or maybe she did make it, but it was sloppy, and didn't turn out right, and her friends would look on in shock and think, "Maybe Cruz Ramirez wasn't as good as we thought she was…"

It was all too much to handle. Cruz screeched to a halt, wallowing there in her embarrassment and shame, the dust settling around her. Her friends released their breaths in the form of weary sighs. Another swing and a miss. That was it for now.

Cruz came back to her friends, her hood hung low. "I'm sorry, guys. I just can't do it."

Ryan looked on in concern. "Do you get scared?"

Cruz lifted her eyes up to him and the others. "Yeah. That maybe I'll wreck again… But not just that…"

Danny moved closer to her, ready to shoulder her worries. "What?"

Cruz stared off past them through the fence to the exit, wishing she could be away from all this. "I'm afraid that I'm not as good as I thought I was. And that if I do make that turn… it won't be as good as the way you guys do it."

The Next-Gens exchanged looks.

"Cruz," Bubba gave her an incredulous look. "You're better than all of us."

Cruz gazed up at him, and she couldn't deny it. The records did prove that.

Danny gazed at Cruz, not a doubt in his mind. "You belong on that track, Cruz."

Chase joined in, a mysterious smile forming on his face. "And that's why we got you something befitting of a  _real_  racer."

"Well, it was kind of Danny's idea," Ryan piped up.

Danny smiled, lowering his eyes to the ground, kicking some dirt with his tire. "Yeah."

Cruz's eyes were wide in curiosity. "Huh?"

Danny reversed and swung around through the entrance, exiting through to the front, before returning with something balanced atop his hood. He arrived in front of Cruz, setting the objects down in front of her.

"They're all yours, Cruz," Danny told her, watching for her reaction.

Cruz peered down at them in amazement. "These…?" They were racing tires, but not just any old racing tires.

"Wait…" Cruz squinted at the label. "These are…"

Chase nodded. " _Flash Turbo_  tires. Yup."

Cruz gawked at her friends in astonishment, and glanced back down at the tires, as if to check they were there, before returning her gaze to her fellow racers once more.

"But—but these must have cost you a fortune!" Cruz exclaimed.

"We all pitched in," Bubba explained, sharing a look with the others. "Besides, what good is all that racing money if we can't spend it on a good racing friend of ours?"

Cruz peered up at her friends, her face scrunched up in a smile chock full of emotions. Her voice broke, overwhelmed. "Thank you, guys!"

She moved in to give them all a nuzzle to show her thanks. They crowded around each other in a friendly congregation.

"Group hug!" Ryan announced.

Bubba rolled his eyes, grinning. "Aww, shucks."

"Hey, Danny," Chase passed his friend a cheeky grin from over the top of their huddled hoods. Cruz was leaning against Danny the most. "I bet you're really enjoying this, huh?"

Danny glared at his buddy, sticking out his bottom lip. He rolled his eyes away from them all, especially Cruz. "Aw, come on, bro."

All of them laughed at Danny's embarrassment, except for Cruz, who was simply happy with the fact that she had such good friends to support her.

* * *

The same couldn't be said for Storm. He and his two pitties occupied a table in the center of CJ's Restaurant, much to Storm's dismay. (He kept tossing glances over his fenders to see if anyone had recognized him yet). The three of them were finishing up their drinks of oil. The two of them, Eli and Toby, were having a lively conversation. Storm was on the sidelines, staring with lidded, dull eyes that darted back and forth between the two forklifts as each spoke, like he was watching a tennis match.

"So I told him," Eli exclaimed, emphatically stabbing the air with his fork, "Look buddy, if you're going to insult me, at least do it to my face, ya know? None of this subtweeting bullshit."

His fellow forklift bobbed his hood up and down. "Uh huh, uh huh."

Storm squinted at the duo in blank incredulity. Just what was he supposed to do? Join in the conversation and act like he gave a damn? What was he even supposed to say that wasn't about racing or himself? Storm knew how to put on a pleasant front and pretend like he was listening, how to say things that he knew the other person wanted to hear. He knew how to talk a lot about nothing. Alternatively, he knew how to play with someone and put them on edge. But a real conversation about actual things of substance? Never heard of her.

But he'd give it a shot.

" _Exactly_ ," Storm rose on his suspension, and the two pitties' eyes were on him. He cast them a self-important smile. " _I_ actually told Cruz Ramirez  _to her face_  that she wasn't a real racer."

Eli and Toby blinked in unison. "...huh." Just how were they supposed to respond to something like that anyway?

Storm's smile fell when he noticed their unenthusiastic response. Well what else do you want me to say? He returned to frowning at his half-drunken can.

Eli did a subtle once-over of Storm before speaking. "What, uh, what have you been up to lately, Storm? Besides racing that is. Because you haven't been doing as well as you used to." He waved his forks in defense when Storm glowered at him from over his drink. "No offense."

Storm broke into that typical self-confident smirk of his. "Ha. Well I've been—" His face froze with that expression and he stared blankly off at a group of friends laughing at the table beyond them. He looked like he was about to speak, but he was coming up blank. What had he been doing?

Toby leaned forward. "What?"

"Shut—" Storm snapped without moving a inch.

Eli and Toby exchanged a look. That look again. With their raised lids. Like they were his parents and they were wondering just what was wrong with their child?

Storm finally drew up an answer.

"I've been listening to music." That was something that people did, right?

Eli looked interested. "Oh, really what—"

"Some dubstep artist you've probably never heard of." Storm didn't even bother to look their way, he was so caught up with himself. "They're underground, too good to be mainstream."

Eli stared blankly at Storm for a moment before responding. "Oh… well, I've been listening to this up and coming hip-hop artist. His name's Axle Grinds."

Storm glanced over at Eli before returning back to his beverage, not making an effort to appear interested. "Hm."

"His newest album," Eli turned halfway to Toby, mainly speaking to him now, "Did you listen to it?"

Toby nodded, a grin on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Didn't Casey play that at the party last week?"

Eli's eyes lit up. "Ohh, riiight! Right!" He turned to Storm, but the grey racer hardly budged. "Casey's a DJ friend of ours, and he and some other guy held this party."

Toby laughed. "It was so good! You should have been there!"

Storm's initially slight irritation hiked up to its max. How dare they attend a party he didn't go to. How dare they not even invite him. Not like he wanted to go anyway. "The only parties worth going to are the  _post-race ones_."

Eli peered up at Storm, who, in his agitation, had risen himself up higher than ever on his suspension. He must have caught this, because the racer promptly settled back down, returning his attention to his can, sulking silently. Eli dropped his gaze in indifferent defeat. He was about ready to call it quits on trying to form a proper relationship with an attention-hungry child.

Toby was a little more optimistic. "Well, what else's been going on, Storm?"

Eli perked up at the sound of Toby's voice. If Toby still believed in him, then maybe… "Yeah, you, uh," Eli scooted up close to Storm, passing him a sly look. "You got a special someone you've been keeping from us?"

Storm rolled his eyes, donning that same cover. That "I'm Jackson Storm and nothing bothers me, but everything slightly amuses me" look. "Ha. I'm too busy with racing to worry about stuff like that." He took a sip of his oil. Gazing off into the distance like he was king posing for a portrait. Gazing off at the table of fun-loving strangers.

Eli rolled his eyes back. This was the final straw. He huffed in frustration. "Okay, that's cool and all, but don't you got anything else to talk about besides racing?" He motioned at Toby before looking back up at Storm—the pair at his mercy. "We're just trying to have a break from work here."

Storm frowned at them, his smile wiped clear from his face. "Did you not hear me mention my music?"

Eli sighed. "Yeah, but why's it gotta be your music. Why's it always gotta be about you?" He held out his forks in appeal. "Isn't there anything else?"

Storm scrutinized them for a moment, before returning his sights to the happy patrons off behind them. Something else? ...someone else? Besides himself? But did he even need anything else? Did he even want anything else?

Storm tore his eyes away from what seemed to him the ghosts of the family through his window. He staved off those creeping emotions, those of which frightened him the stronger they became. In turn, he dialed up the option in his mind labeled, "Indifferent Jackass" and tried that on for size.

"No. Because nothing else matters," Storm told them, plain and simple. And he took another sip of his oil, in hopes that it would stop him from blurting out anything more compromising.

Eli and Toby started back in surprise, but that surprise, at least in Eli, faded into something of acceptance.

"Not even us?" Toby peered up with wide, expectant eyes.

Storm shrugged. "Sure. You're my pitties. I need you to change my tires."

Eli nodded. Slowly, deeply. That's what it was after all. "Right… And you're our racer. We need you so we can pay our bills."

Storm couldn't disagree with that. But as Eli and Toby returned to their own conversation, their voices—and the restaurant, for that matter—faded from his hearing. He couldn't help but feel a blow to his insides in response to Eli's final sentence.

Normally, he would have been more than happy to hear those words. "You're our racer." But he never hated that title more than he did now. Because that was all he knew how to be, and all he was to anybody else. Your racer.

The more he thought about it, the more he knew it was true, but the more he wished it wasn't. Because he did want to be something more. Something more than just your racer.

...your friend.

...But he didn't know how…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote the rough draft for this, I realized that the fact that Cruz wouldn't had even been able to make the first turn after a few hours of trying was a tad absurd. So I tweaked it so that she can go around the track, but only at very low speeds. What she can't quite do yet is hit higher speeds when heading for the first turn (or for the whole track, for that matter).
> 
> But yeah, Lightning and Sally casually decided on the fly to get married! Sometimes simpler things are sweeter. Of course, this doesn't mean that there won't be an official proposal scene for Lightning and Sally later on... And I thought it might be fitting to start referring to Lightning as Lightning here because he's getting married to Sally, and therefore, she will also become a "McQueen" as well, you know what I mean? Lightning's mini-arc also kind of wraps up here (for the most part), so I guess he really comes into his name here? (Let's be honest, I'm just trying to find an excuse for suddenly calling him Lightning).
> 
> Also, I was influenced to write Lightning's intermingled relationship with family and racing based on fellow writer and friend Whipplefilter's idea of it in her fanfic: The Curve. Y'all should check it out if you haven't already. She's a wonderful writer! On that note, I just want to say that I realize that I've been influenced by a few other Cars writers as well! To all you Cars writers (and writers in general) out there, thank you for your work! You've inspired many, perhaps without them even knowing it!
> 
> On a different note, please disregard the utter lack of creativity I have in coming up with names for things (read: "Flash Turbo").


	13. Teach Me How to Win (or Live)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I haven't abandoned this fic! I've just been busy with school, lost interest in this fic, etc. etc. Regardless, I'll be sure to finish it, mark my words. It's only a matter of when. At the very least, it'll be done by the end of this year. Of course, I'm hoping it'll be done sooner than that. I'm thinking by the end of this summer, when I'll have more time, but I can't make any promises. Thank you to anyone who is still reading this! It means a lot that people are still interested in my little fic!
> 
> This chapter's the longest yet, so that might compensate for my being terrible at updating. Also, this chapter has a little "gasohol" (alcohol) involved. Nothing major.
> 
> [EDIT: I've changed Cruz's "costume" color to silver instead of orange. There's some significance, as well as symbolism behind that change. Also, I think in the early version of the movie, Cruz was silver instead of yellow?]

Cruz found herself alone once again at the Thomasville Speedway at the break of the dawn the very next day. She had considered waking up her friends back at the hotel, but decided against it almost as soon as she thought of it. They had already done so much for her, and she felt guilty at having to ask them for any more favors. She could handle being alone to practice for one more day. After all, wasn't that how she faced a lot of her own personal challenges? Alone…?

As Cruz wound around and around the track at speeds that would make a minivan seem fast in comparison, she became lost in her own thoughts. She had always hated being a burden on anyone. It was, what seemed to her, her role to take on the troubles of others, instead of relinquishing her own onto them. That was why she dealt with these kind of things on her own. It was the reason she kept her dreams of becoming a Piston Cup champion sequestered away in the corner of her mind, where nobody could find them. That was until Lightning brought them back out again. Cruz dared to float those aspirations of hers up to the surface, and because of that, Lightning was able to give her her first chance. Having those kind of people in your life. Friends. Those to shoulder your burdens and bolster your ambitions. They were worth having.

Cruz slowed to a stop, staring off at the ground ahead of her. But what more could her friends do at this point? They had done all they could. And Cruz herself, well, she had done just about all she could too. Didn't she?

A voice shook Cruz from her silent reverie, startling her to her core.

_"Call from: Chester Whipplefilter."_

The silver-disguised coupé sighed, easing the tension from her frame. It was just Hamilton reciting the caller's name on her phone.

Cruz smiled at the nickname she had chosen for her mentor in her contacts, that of which she refused to change, despite his many protests.

She picked up the phone, making sure that her sunny disposition shone through to the other end before speaking.

"Good morning, Mr. McQueen! Isn't it kind of early over back at home?"

Lightning sighed over the speaker. "Don't remind me."

Cruz giggled in response.

"I know you always wake up at this ungodly hour to practice, so I made sure to catch you at the right time," Lightning continued. "Even if it  _does_  mean that I have to get up in the middle of the night to call you…"

Cruz frowned. "For what?"

She could practically see her crew chief shaking his hood is disapproval. "To check up on you, Cruz! I can't help but worry a little about how you're doing."

"But you already called me last night!"

"Yeah, but last night was hours ago!"

Cruz couldn't help but be touched by her mentor's concern for her well-being. "Well, I haven't made too much progress yet today. It's still a little intimidating to go over 30."

Lightning didn't reply right away, which made Cruz tighten in worry. Was he disappointed?

"Sounds like progress to me."

Cruz released a breath, but froze in fear that Lightning heard her do it.

"I mean, you couldn't even make that first turn when you started out. So I'd say you're not doing so bad."

Cruz relaxed once more. So she could depend on Lightning to give her the right words after all. She shouldn't have ever doubted him. After all, it was rare to have such a supportive figure in her life like him.

Cruz lowered her voice to show her appreciation. "Thank you, Mr. McQueen."

Though they were many miles apart, Cruz could see him smile. "No problem, Cruz. Now go get 'em, alright?"

Cruz nodded. "I'll do my best."

She moved to hang up, but before she could…

"Hey, Cruz?"

"Yeah?"

Lightning hesitated, before abandoning his train of thought. "Ah, I'll tell you later. Just focus on finding your speed for now."

"Oookay." Even still, Cruz couldn't help but be curious.

As soon as she ended the call, she felt an unmistakably familiar presence roll up near her before she even heard it make it sound.

"Can McQueen really not stand to leave you alone for more than two seconds? A little overprotective, don't ya think?"

It was none other than good ol' Stormy boy himself back again to haunt her. Er, taunt her. Same thing.

Cruz sighed. She was getting a little tired of his unexpected appearances. "Is eavesdropping on other people's conversations just something you do now?"

Storm was unapologetic, riding up to meet her. "Sorry my engine is so quiet and well-maintained." He seemed to deliberately refrain from revving his engine as he moved closer, as if to prove his point.

Cruz shook her hood disapprovingly. "Are you here to practice?"

Storm hesitated, which piqued Cruz's interest, seeing as the self-assured racer always seemed, well… self-assured.

He recovered in a flash though. "What else? Considering that they're setting up at Charlotte, there aren't really any other places to go."

"Really? What about your simulator? Don't you have that?"

Storm pulled himself up higher, like he was waiting for this answer. "It's back at the Drive Inn."

Cruz's eyes grew big. "That's where we're staying!"

Storm rolled his eyes. "Well of course, that's where  _all_  the racers are staying."

Cruz opened her mouth to continue, but suddenly decided against it, lowering her eyes to the soil. She bit her bottom lip, contemplating. No, it'd be ridiculous to ask. Of course he would refuse. Why wouldn't he? But it was the one thing she hadn't tried yet. Having spent so much time away from the thing, she forgot how useful it could be as well. In some ways, it was just as good as racing on real dirt.

Well, Cruz had always made an effort to at least give things a shot.

"Mind if I try giving your simulator a go?" Cruz peered up from beneath her lids, almost afraid to see the IGNTR racer's reaction.

But he didn't seem that surprised. Not even that angry either. It was almost as if he was forcing on a disgruntled exterior.

"Why? Don't you have this…" Storm eyed the place like it was a wasteland. "...track?"

Cruz's hopeful face fell. "Yeah, but…"

"But…?"

Cruz considered revealing her predicament to him, but realized that it would have been awkward, considering that he was  _kind of_  the one who caused her to develop this amplified fear of racing to begin with. That information was on a need-to-know basis. And Storm didn't need to know just yet.

"There's just some things that you can do on a simulator that you can't do on a real track," Cruz replied, picking up her hood. That sounded reasonable enough.

Storm considered this for a moment, but it didn't seem he was ready to allow her access into his precious domain.

"What makes you think I'll just let you use my simulator anyway?" Storm shot back, locking eyes with her. Challenging her, perhaps.

Cruz cringed. Right… that was a good point. "We race together?" she tried, but even she didn't believe her own words.

Storm narrowed his eyes. " _Against_  each other. Not  _together_."

Cruz wracked her mind for any other possible reasons. "Just for a little bit? I'm just going to run a few laps. You don't have to do a thing! Besides let me use it, of course."

The grey racer continued to scrutinize her. His eyes told that he didn't trust whatever she was planning. He wasn't on-board with this, and Cruz was beginning to feel it was futile to persist.

"C'mon, Storm." Cruz was growing desperate. She  _needed_  this. She had no other options. This was her last chance. She fished out an excuse from the recesses of her mind and threw it out as a last-ditch effort.

"I know we're not friends, but we're not enemies either!"

Storm snorted in disbelief. "Really?"

Cruz nodded, though a part of her felt guilty for not stating the true depth of her negative feelings toward the racer. Too much had transpired between them for her to like him. But she wouldn't lie. She might not have liked him now, but maybe…

"At least I don't  _think_  you're my enemy. I don't…" Cruz paused, thinking this over to make sure. "I don't  _hate_  you." She gave an awkward laugh, knowing just how ridiculous it sounded. She had every reason to hate him. And yet…

This declaration hit Storm in a way that Cruz hadn't expected. He didn't brush it off. He didn't laugh. He didn't shoot her a glare. Instead, he frowned, a trace of confusion in his features. But no, it wasn't just confusion. He was taken aback. Like he didn't expect Cruz to respond in this way either. After all, how could it be possible that someone out there still didn't hate him. Especially after all he did to Cruz. Out of everyone,  _she_  was the one who remained neutral toward him. She still wanted to give him a chance. And maybe that was what rattled him. What else could have explained the never-seen-before guilt that flickered across his face.

After all this… and Cruz still couldn't bring herself to hate him. Maybe she just wasn't physically able to hate  _anyone_.

Did Storm deserve this? A second chance—no, a third. Fourth? There were too many to count. From someone like her… who still believed in him…

"Fine then. It's not like I have much else to do, considering I'm  _already_  the fastest racecar out there."

How could he refuse?

* * *

It must have been sometime between the wordless drive over to the hotel and the brief, yet somehow eternal silent elevator ride up to the fourth floor that the fact that Storm was hanging out with Cruz Ramirez settled in. Everything about it rubbed him the wrong way. Naturally it would, since Storm was basically doing Cruz a favor. He didn't have to, of course. And he wasn't quite sure why he was doing it either. Maybe if he indulged her just this once, she would leave him alone, once and for all. But even that idea didn't leave him feeling convinced either.

After what seemed like years, the lift's doors opened to the floor of their destination. The two of them cruised down to the end of the hall, stopping in front of the room which housed Storm's simulator. On the way over, Storm could feel Cruz's eyes darting over to him every so often. She made out like she wanted to say something, but refrained from doing so in fear of setting Storm off. She didn't want to blow her one and only chance, after all.

"Here we are," Storm stated as he unlocked the doors, allowing them to slide open. He rolled inside the room, the lights flickering on, with Cruz following close behind him. The silver coupé peered around the room in a sort of awe, though Storm was almost certain that the Dinoco Racer had a simulator room just like his at her own respective training facility. It must have been the mere fact that Cruz was permitted to enter such a forbidden place that evoked the intrigued look on her face.

Storm started up the simulator with a click of a few buttons. He moved back, watching Cruz's hesitant form with apathetic eyes.

"You get 30 minutes to go on your leisurely Sunday cruise, and that's it." Storm couldn't help but detect the impatience in his own tone, and he found it contradictory. He  _was_  the one who agreed to let her use the dang thing.

Cruz's eyes bulged out in disbelief. " _30 minutes?_ "

Storm narrowed his eyes, reaching out a single tire to switch off the system, prompting Cruz to reconfigure her expression.

"Alright, alright." She relented, boarding the console.

The race started off as normal. If it could even be called a race. Cruz rumbled forward, taking her time around the track, causing Storm's shocks to twitch in restlessness. It was almost torture to see someone go so slow, when he was so used to zipping around in a matter of seconds.

However, something more demanding managed to take Storm's mind off of Cruz's speed. A yellow blur whirred past Cruz on the screen, and Cruz jumped slightly at the sudden movement, veering off to the inside.

"What was—?"

But Cruz's question was answered for her before she could even finish.

" _You have been passed by Cruz Ramirez."_

Storm felt his entire body grow hot at the realization that he had left the Cruz Ramirez A.I. in the system.

Cruz's confused expression quickly turned into one of amusement.

"I didn't know I was a good motivator for you, Storm!" Cruz cast him an arch grin.

Storm's temperature only rose even further, and he quickly turned to deactivate his virtual rival from the system.

"You're only in there so I can feel good about myself every time I pass you," he said while maintaining the coolest composure possible, but it broke just as quickly when he realized that this excuse not only made matters worse, but was also incriminatingly true.

Cruz seemed to catch onto this sentiment, because her delighted expression slowly sobered. A realization dawned on her face, that of which Storm dreaded for her to have.

So the big and bad Jackson Storm really  _was_ daunted by Cruz Ramirez. And here  _she_  was obsessing over the fact that he was higher in the rankings than him. Despite this, Storm still considered her a threat. He recognized her as a formidable racer. And somehow, this alone altered something within her. It ignited something that had long been dead in her. Something that hadn't burned this bright since the first time she flipped over Storm himself.

Cruz narrowed her eyes at the screen. The times she had tried practicing on her own simulator post-accident had not proved to be very helpful. At that point in time, the sheer image of the wall alone intimidated her, even when it was virtual. But that point had long since passed, and Cruz could at least make it around. And the security of knowing that she was safe and sound (so long as she didn't loosen herself from the restraints like a certain 95 racer had) somewhat eased her anxieties about picking up speeds. And so that she did.

But it must have been something else too. It must the reaffirmation of the fact that she  _was_ a darn good racer—good enough that Jackson Storm himself saw her as someone to surpass. The very same racer who had caused her so much anxiety was now invigorating her with confidence once more. Cruz smiled at the irony of it all. That was her talent after all—taking the negative and turning it into the positive. And before she was even aware of it, Cruz's engine revved loud and clear off the walls of the simulator room and she was blowing by at almost 100 now. 105… 110… Could she push it past that?

"Hey, Storm," Cruz said, not even looking his way. She was too invested in the race. "Are you in the simulator too?"

Storm scoffed. "Why would I be in my own simulator?"

"Because maybe the person you really need to beat is yourself, not me."

Storm frowned in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?" A smirk spread across his face. "That the only person fast enough to beat Storm is Storm?"

Cruz squinted at the screen, only paying her words half a mind. "No, I mean, you should work on becoming a better Storm than the one who pushed me at the L.A. Speedway."

Storm's eyes widened in surprise at the reference to that event, before growing dark and ominous.

He switched off the simulator, jolting Cruz out of her zone.

"Hey, wait, it's only been 25 minutes—"

"Is that what this is about?" Storm stated, his hard steel eyes penetrating her from down on the floor.

Cruz blinked for a second, it taking some time to recollect what she just blurted out.

"You mean…?" Cruz heaved a sigh when the gravity of what she said sank in. "Oh." She rolled down from the platform, leveling with Storm, but still maintaining a healthy distance away from him.

The gears began turning in Storm's head. "Wait… so you couldn't race…" He gazed back up at Cruz, disbelief settling into his features. "Because of a little  _wreck_?"

Cruz kept her eyes down on the floor, ashamed of herself. She twisted her tire against it uncomfortably. "It's not so easy, okay? When all these doubts start coming down on you. Because of things like this…"

She blew her breath out, directing her eyes back toward Storm. "It's like I said, I'm not  _like_  you."

Storm considered this for a moment. Cruz was echoing the very same sentiments she had voiced back at Thomasville not so long ago. But this time, he couldn't get away with saying nothing in return. He had to say something. But what? What could he possibly say to yet another person who praised him for his awesome racing mettle? What more could he say that he hadn't yet said before?

"Maybe that's a good thing."

Cruz looked taken aback by this response. Out of all the possible reactions, she hadn't planned on hearing this one. And she certainly didn't expect to see the Piston Cup Champion training his gaze on the floor, unable to meet hers. Somehow melancholy, maybe even… regretful?

But before she could further conjecture on what exactly that statement meant, a third, unrelated opinion broke out.

_"Call from: Danny Swervez."_

The two racers jolted at the sudden disturbance, their eyes meeting for a split second, before tearing away from each other once more. Cruz answered the call, eager to escape this awkward situation.

"Hey, Danny!"

"Hey, Cruz! Where you at?"

"Oh, just…" Cruz cast a nervous glance around the room before centering back on Storm, who watched her with impassive eyes. "...around…"

"At Thomasville?"

Cruz perked up at the reminder. "Yes! Thomasville! Practicing!" She frowned at Storm whose lips curled into a half-grin.

"Oh, because we were thinking about hangin' out at the local bar there tonight." He paused for a second. "What's it called… Cotter…" His memory picked back up. "The Cotter Pin Bar and Grill!"

Cruz's eyes lit up. "Oh, that one! Where all the greats hang out! Sure!"

Danny's excitement only seemed to keep growing. "Great! I'll see you there, Cruz!" He winced at his mistake. "I mean,  _we_  will."

Cruz was oblivious to this. "Yup. See ya!"

She hung up, beaming to herself in anticipation of the future event for a moment, before remembering where she was, and returning her solemn attention toward Storm once more.

"I, uh… should get going," she said, shuffling her tires in place.

Cruz expected Storm to have a more relieved reaction, but he was strangely pensive.

"Fine with me." He jerked his hood off to the side.

"Thanks!" Cruz replied, remembering her manners (and her gratitude). "For letting me use your simulator." And she was genuine about it too. Not too enthusiastic to the point of dishonesty. But just warm and gentle enough so that there was no doubt of her sincerity.

Storm looked her way for a few before rolling his eyes away from her again. "It's not like I have anything better to do anyway…"

Cruz gave him a tight, courteous smile. "Right." She threw him one last glance before heading for the door.

But before she could leave, something stopped her. She wasn't sure what it was. It might have been a mixture of the visual image of Storm's final, taciturn expression and the sound of his parting words echoing in her head. It might have been the distinct feeling that something was left unfinished. Or it might have been the empty, desolate atmosphere of the facility—the low hum of the electricity running through the idle simulator, or the low room temperature. The stark bright lights beating down on a bleak, pristine floor. Regardless of what it was exactly, Cruz wanted to turn back around. And so she did.

"In that case…" She began, peering up at Storm in a tone that could suggest nothing else but this.

Storm squinted with a sort of apprehensive dread. "What?"

Cruz shrugged, rolling her eyes around in a show of nonchalance. "If you're not doing anything…" She moved up closer to him. "Would you be down for coming with me to the bar tonight?"

A look of surprise flashed across the grey racer's face. But only for a second, because he saw this coming. He took this foresight to his advantage, putting up a mischievous front.

"Are you asking me out for a drink, Ramirez?" he asked, closing the distance between them even more.

Cruz jerked back, not expecting this type of reaction. It didn't help that he made his tone smooth and teasing, which rubbed her the wrong way. Or something like that.

"What? Nooo!" She shook her hood to make a clear case. "I meant as fr—" She caught her tongue before it slipped up and uttered something devastating. Storm seemed to catch onto this though, and a trace of something more serious flickered across his face again.

"I mean… just to hang out," Cruz continued as smoothly as she could. "You know. With me. And my friends." She motioned at him with her tire. "You know them."

Storm snorted. "Why would I want to hang out with you people?"

Cruz made a noncommittal face. "Why not?"

This question struck Storm like lightning, even more so than the first.  _Why not?_ He could think of a million reasons why not. He wasn't the kind of racer to make friends with his competition. Not real friends anyway. Maybe he'd pretend to be all buddy-buddy with them for a spell, but he wouldn't go so far as to spend time with them recreationally. That kind of stuff took effort. He couldn't… or maybe  _wouldn't_  pull the long-con. Besides, his normal tactics of mindplay didn't prove very effective anymore on his opponents, so he decided to tone down that part of himself. Storm wanted to focus on Storm. So this kind of excursion… it could only be  _genuine_. Would he really be willing to do something genuine for once? Something that other,  _normal_  people did? Socialize with others in order to… become closer to them? It was all so foreign to Storm. And pointless too. But…

Cruz waited for his answer expectantly.

Storm's features dropped in defeat. "You're not going to make me do caraoke or something stupid like that, are you?"

* * *

" _Wherever you go. Whatever you do. I will be right here waiting for you."_

Danny sang with a sort of emotion that could only be rooted in something personal. It didn't help that he spent a good portion of the song shooting wistful looks at Cruz.

Cruz, along with a begrudged Storm and the remainder of her Next-Gens friends, were taking turns on the caraoke machine at the Cotter Pin Bar and Grill. The whole group of them had some gasohol in their systems and were displaying this fact in varying degrees.

"Woo! Go Danny!" Cruz shouted, having nothing but support for him.

" _Whatever it takes. Or how my heart breaks. I will be right here waiting for you."_ Danny turned his attention back on Cruz as he recited this lyric.

Chase nudged Bubba, shaking his hood in amusement. The two of them were well-aware of what Cruz seemingly wasn't. Chances were, Ryan also realized the full intention behind Danny's song choice, but he was too invested in the purple racecar's performance to take notice.

Chase leaned in close to Cruz's right, close enough so that Storm wouldn't hear him from the other side. "I still can't believe you invited him to hang out with us," he murmured, casting the grey racer a disparaging glance. Storm himself was too irked by Danny's shamelessly passionate serenade to notice.

"Why not?" Cruz asked, keeping her eyes on Danny. "What's the worst that can happen?"

The green racer opened his mouth to explain, but closed it when he realized that she had a point. He searched the floor for a moment before looking back at her.

"He's…" Chase studied Storm's disinterested, and yet somehow eternally haughty form lingering off to Cruz's left. Storm was there all right. But something was missing. It was like he was observing the world from the outside. "He's just not one of us."

Cruz's joyful expression faded at Chase's statement. For some reason, those particular choice of words hit her. Maybe it was because they were eerily similar to the ones Storm himself said to her at the Florida 500.

" _You'll never be… one of_ _ **us**_ _."_

Cruz risked a glimpse at that very racer next to her. Some part of that assertion was true. Storm certainly didn't  _look_  like the rest of them. But Cruz herself wasn't an ordinary racecar either. With origins and structure that differed from the others, Cruz was also a bit of an outsider. And Storm, with  _his_  attitude, well, that also set him apart. But not in a good way.

She remembered back to that exchange she had with him in a setting similar to this one. At the post-race party with her friends. He had approached her and insulted her once again. She had stared into his eyes and became convinced, just for a moment, that there was nobody behind them. And that much seemed true right now. Here, Storm watched occurrences flicker by like those on a television screen. None of it mattered to him. Maybe nothing did…

Cruz's friends to her right burst into cheers, and she soon realized that Danny's song was over. The purple racer moved up to his companions, grinning from fender to fender, a little out of breath.

"Okay, who wants to go next?" He addressed the whole group when he said this, but he devoted most of his attention toward Cruz.

"Ooh! I do!" Ryan piped up, revving up to the caraoke machine.

Danny couldn't help but betray a trace of disappointment in his voice.

"Sure thing, Ry."

Cruz gave Danny a smile as Ryan sifted through the list of songs in the background. "Nice job, Danny! You sure got a set of pipes on you!"

Danny rolled his eyes in modesty. "Thanks, Cruz." He wiggled in between her and Chase, making sure not to end up on the side that contained Storm.

"Hey, Silver!" a familiar voice called out. Cruz turned to determine its source. It was Louise "Barnstormer" Nash at the bar off to the side of them. Only she and a select few knew her true identity at the moment. Hence the nickname.

Louise gestured for her to come over when Cruz looked her way. She nodded and pushed off in her direction, leaving space between Storm and Danny. The two eyed each other with different but similarly hostile expressions.

"Hi, Miss Nash!" Cruz greeted as she approached.

"Please," Louise waved her off. "Call me Louise." The two of them in particular had bonded together following the Florida 500. She, the rest of the legends, and other folks from Radiator Springs had spent quite a few days racing together, among other fun shenanigans.

"What'd you call me over for?" Cruz asked, settling in beside her.

"It's about that kid over there." Louise jerked her hood in Storm's direction, not bothering to hide her disdain.

Cruz followed her line of sight. "Storm?" She returned her gaze back to Louise. "What about him?"

"I know Lightning and him never got along." Louise studied the silver-clad racer beside her. "But you've been havin' some kinda rivalry with him too, haven't you?"

Cruz hung her hood. "Yeah…"

"I was a little surprised to see you come in here with him at your side." The Ambasador shook her hood. "I wasn't even expectin' you to be here  _period._ But I 'spose that's on account of what happened between you and him at the city of angels?"

Cruz gave a nod. She had filled in to Louise and the others about her racing dilemma. While she had made some progress and was back on the road to full speed, they had been keen to remind her that if there was anything they could do, just holler.

"What happened?" Louise asked. "You two made up already?"

Cruz sighed a season's worth of weariness. "I'm trying, I guess."

Louise nodded her hood up and down. "Well let me just tell ya, Cruz. I ain't never seen nobody work as hard as you to get on someone's good side. Even Doc, well…" She chuckled and smiled in fond recollection. "Him and I were a whole 'nother story on its own. Though he did try at least a little to be courteous to old Newing, but he never got very far."

Cruz cocked her hood. "Newing?"

"Leroy Newing," Louise clarified. "The rookie."

"Ohhh."

Louise gave a short nod. "Yup. After that race, Doc had tried to be a good sport with Newing. But that Chrysler just couldn't be bothered. So Doc didn't push it past general niceness."

Cruz's face fell into that of acute disappointment. This situation was too close for comfort. "Oh…"

Louise seemed to catch onto this as well. She gazed over at Storm from across the building. "You know, that Storm fella kind of reminds me of Newing. Both arrogant. Mean on the track. Always actin' like they're on a pedestal."

Cruz perked up at this. "What ever happened to Newing?"

Louise peered off past Storm into… well, the past. "Ol' Newing. He stopped being new."

"Huh?"

"Another rookie came long." Louise smiled the kind of smile that only a racer of decades could form. "Like they always do. Newing was forced out of the game. Never saw him after that."

Cruz took on a more concerned look. "Why?"

Louise shrugged, like the answer was simple enough. "Nobody really knew him. Or, it was more like, he never got to know any of  _us_. Was always just focused on winning and nothing else. So when winning went, so did he."

Cruz dropped her gaze. It was the reply she was expecting, but it felt close to home. It was as if she was getting a glimpse into the future instead of the past. The future of a certain fellow racer of hers. A path that seemed so close already.

Louise took notice of Cruz's crestfallen state. She observed her for a moment, deep in thought, before returning her sights back on Storm. "Maybe… just  _maybe_  you can give that boy a chance, Cruz."

Cruz's hood shot back up. "Are you… are you sure?"

"No." Cruz jerked back at this bold proclamation. But Louise wasn't done. "But who's sure of anything?" She gave the younger female racer a stern look. "Now, you definitely don't owe him nothing, Cruz." Her expression softened and she offered Cruz a smile. "But with your kinda determination and good cheer, well, who couldn't like you for that?"

Cruz's features melted into a display of gratitude. "Thanks, Miss Na—er, Louise."

"No problem, kid." The legend re-assumed a solemn look. "Just make sure you know what you're getting into. It's mighty tough to befriend your enemies, and sometimes, that's just the way they should stay."

Cruz took this advice to heart. "Okay. I'll remember that."

She wheeled around to return back to her group. But before she could…

"Oh, Cruz!"

The silver coupé swung back around. "Yeah?"

Louise studied Cruz for a second, her eyes darting over to Storm, and then back to Cruz once more. She gave a nostalgic laugh, mainly to herself. "You and him… y'all sorta remind me of…"

Cruz's eyes widened innocently. "What?"

Louise scoffed to herself before shaking her hood, her smile still on her face. "Oh, nevermind. I shouldn't be meddlin'."

Cruz frowned in confusion, but drove away without so much as another thought. She joined her friends, just as Chase was finishing off his song.

All the while Storm and Danny had been maintaining an awkwardly large distance between each other. The two of them hadn't interacted much—Cruz had seen Storm make what looked like typical sly Storm remarks to Danny, but Danny hadn't been putting up with any of it. Aside from that, all that passed between them were surreptitious glances.

Danny was relieved at Cruz's return.

"Hey, Cruz! It's your turn on the caraoke!" he said, and he made out like he was about to join her for a duet. But Cruz had other plans.

"Actually, I was thinking Storm could give it a try." She turned to face him as she said this.

Storm gawked at her in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

The others were bewildered by this prospect as well.

"Jackson Storm  _singing_?" Chase leaned back, a sly glimmer in his eyes. "I'd pay to see that."

Storm raised his lids and pushed forward to challenge him. "Oh? How much Racelott? How about all of your earnings? You don't make very much, so it's hardly a dent in you bank account."

Chase glowered at Storm, never taking his eyes off of him. "Cruz, make him sing."

Storm lidded his eyes and donned that infamous smirk of his. "I dunno, Racelott. Your gorgeous soprano voice is hard to top."

" _Cruz."_

Cruz, who was stuck in the middle of them, turned back to Storm. "What do you say, Storm?"

Storm worked his mouth around, turning this over in his mind. "Singing's stupid. I'll pass."

Ryan drifted forward. "If you don't sing, Bubba'll screech out another one of his heavy metal songs."

Bubba snorted, shooting his friend a grin. "Hey, it's some good stuff, man."

Storm was unswayed. "No thanks."

Cruz bounced up and down on her treads. "C'monnn, it'll be fun!"

Storm blinked. "Fun?"

Chase decided to take this a step further. "What's the matter, Stormy boy? You get stage fright or something?"

Storm sucked in his breath and muttered through clenched teeth, "No."

Chase shrugged. "Or maybe you just suck at singing."

Storm forced himself to remain cool. "Wrong again."

Chase's gaze hardened, testing him. "Then prove me wrong."

Storm narrowed his eyes, staring straight back at him. He was essentially playing right into the Vitoline racer's tires, but he didn't mind. If there was any way to get Storm to do something, it was to challenge his expertise. Storm had no choice but to defend his pride—even if it was about something as trivial as his singing abilities.

The grey racer revved up closer to Chase, the two of them staring down each other in this back-and-forth duel. "Okay… I will." Challenge accepted.

But before taking any further action, Storm downed a shot of gasohol in order to psyche himself up. He released a deep breath for good measure, then moved on up to the makeshift stage, across from the caraoke machine. Cruz joined him.

"Oh! If you're feeling nervous, I'll sing with you. We can duet!" Cruz offered, chipper as ever.

Storm grimaced. "Uhhh, no."

Cruz reverted back to her childlike enthusiasm. "Pleaseee? I love duets!"

Storm huffed. There was no getting out of this one. It made no difference to him. He was just doing this to prove a point. "As long as it's not some stupid sappy love song."

Cruz squinted in thought. "Hmm… that might be hard to find…" She swiped through the console, looking for any duet that fell under that category.

"I'll pick one that isn't too high. It'll be easier on you," Cruz added, not taking her eyes off the screen.

Chase was displeased. "Boo!"

Cruz's eyes lit up when she landed on one song in particular. "Oh! I think this could work."

Storm's dull eyes moved over to Cruz. "What's it called?"

"Anything You Can Do," Cruz replied, selecting the song without another thought.

Storm moved up to his mic, frowning. "I've never heard of that song."

Cruz did the same to her own mic. "Oh, it'll be easy, don't worry."

Storm didn't seem to trust her on this, but went with it anyway. "Whatever you say."

The lyrics started appearing on the screen. Storm read the first one and already he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his engine.

" _Anything you can do, I can do better."_ Cruz locked eyes with Storm.

The fact that this was a song barely registered to him. "What?"

" _I can do anything better than you."_

" _No, you can't,"_  Storm shot back without thinking, and then he realized that it was the next line of the song.

" _Yes, I can."_

" _No, you can't."_

" _Yes, I can."_

" _No, you can't."_

" _Yes, I can, yes, I cannn!"_

The four Next-Gens spectating this event exchanged wary looks with each other. Just what had they gotten themselves into?

Storm hunkered down, ready to go all in on this. " _Anything you can be, I can be greater. Sooner or later, I'm greater than you."_

" _No, you're not."_

" _Yes, I am."_

" _No, you're not."_

" _Yes, I am."_

" _No, you're not."_

" _Yes, I am, yes, I ammm!"_

The rest of the song went on like this, and while at first the competitive vibes between them were subtle, they became increasingly heated the further they got into the song. The Next-Gens' eyes darted back and forth between the two as each one sang their respective parts. It was like watching a tennis match, but instead of a tennis ball, they were watching a flaming ball of gas shoot back and forth between them at the speed of light. Storm's voice had started off low and casual but progressively grew stronger and more passionate. The fact that the apathetic racer was so invested in what now seemed a rap battle of the ages was surprising, given that he was normally so put together. Cruz had also started off with the goal of having a good time. Her voice was rich and enthusiastic, but it, too, took on a more intense edge.

And then they started changing the lyrics up. Singing lines that weren't actually part of the original song.

" _Any track you can race, I can race faster. I can race any track faster than you!"_ Storm was only a couple of feet away from Cruz now. He now wore a firm, almost accusatory glare.

Cruz also assumed a sterner expression. She didn't peg Storm for the improvising type. But of course, there was a motive to this.

" _No, you can't."_

" _Yes, I can."_

" _No, you can't."_

" _Yes, I can."_

" _No, you can't."_

" _Yes, I can—"_

Without thinking, Cruz cut him off.

"Then how come you've been losing all those races?"

Storm jerked back in surprise, his eyes wide. It was almost as if Cruz's accusation had physically impacted him. It seemed the entire bar went silent, and nothing but the backing track of the song on the karaoke machine was audible.

Cruz was astonished by her own frankness. She must have gotten carried away by the tunes. No, it was the lyrics of the song. Or maybe the gasohol was having a bigger effect on her than she previously thought. Either way, one thing was for sure, her  _words_ had something of an effect on Storm. Normally she would have expected him to retort with a witty comeback, or at least do something to defend himself. But he didn't. He simply regarded her with such a distant stare, a stare that meant a thousand things at once, but she didn't know what.

Storm opted to escape from this situation as quickly as possible. He swung around on a dime and sped for the exit, knocking down his microphone in the process. It clattered to the floor with a screech. Cruz watched as Storm's shadowy figure pushed through the swinging doors of the bar and out into the filtering shine of the streetlights.

Cruz's friends must have been saying something to her, but their words weren't quite registering in her mind. All she could think about was chasing after the lone racer who stole off into the night.

* * *

"Storm, wait!"

Storm had rambled over to the streetlight on the edge of the street, his cool indigo highlights glowing faint under the pervasive golden light. At the sound of Cruz's voice, he drifted up onto the street before wheeling around halfway to toss her a tired glare.

"What?" he asked, not hiding his irritation as Cruz rode up to meet him.

Cruz blew a heavy breath through her lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say something like that. It just sorta slipped out. It must have been the gasohol or something, I'm usually not this peppy, or maybe I always am, I dunno, am I talking too much? I think I do that when I've had too much to drink, I—"

Storm held up a tire to cut her off short, returning his attention back down the road. "Whatever. I don't care. I just wasn't feeling that song."

"Oh…"

Storm continued staring down the lonely lane as the silver coupé accompanying him shuffled her tires awkwardly, at a loss of how to progress. The quiet murmur of conversations back in the bar filled the empty outdoor air.

The grey racer turned back to Cruz, his eyes narrow and slanting up at her, as if he was resistant to saying what he said next. "So? Aren't you going to make  _me_  apologize now?"

Cruz blinked. "What?... Why?"

Storm rolled his eyes, moving down the road a foot or so—increasing the gap between them. "Oh come on, Ramirez. You know what I'm talking about. What happened at L.A." He came to a stop, still facing away from her.

Cruz nodded deeply in recollection. "Ohh, that?" She observed Storm's dark, non-receptive figure—out of the reach of the street light's luminescence. "Well… do you  _want_  to apologize for it?"

Storm whirled around at a sharp angle, his eyes hidden in the dark, still refusing to meet hers. "Stuff like that is just part of the game. And wrecks happen all the time. I didn't do anything wrong."

Cruz sighed. She was over it at this point. Storm didn't feel sorry for his aggressive behavior on the track because, in his mind, there was nothing wrong with it. His attitude toward that… she didn't expect it to change. He wasn't going to apologize.

Storm angled himself off toward the grassy, tree-filled area across from the bar. "But it feels like I did…"

Cruz started up at this confession. So he  _did_  recognize that something was wrong with his recent actions toward her. He felt something. Something bad. This feeling… was it something that he had been grappling with this whole time? Even on the track?...

The Dinoco racer suddenly put two and two together. "Wait… is that why you've been losing? You feel…" She crept up closer to him. "...guilty?"

Storm reversed around and away from her in one swift movement. "I don't know what I feel, okay?!" His sudden loudness cut through through the humid summer night air like a knife.

Cruz backed up a tad. She knew from her basic psychology lessons as a trainer alone that Storm was getting angrily defensive for a reason. She needed to give him some space to sort this out.

But Storm seemed intent on inching closer to her as he spoke. He surged through all his various emotions and thoughts with little self-control, desperate to get them out into the open so he could finally have someone else take a look at them.

"You don't know how easy you have it! The way you can make friends, just like that, and have everybody like you with the slightest of ease!" This accusatory anger directed toward her faded and turned on himself. "But I can't do that! It just doesn't work that way with me!" His eyes shot up to hers, and for a second, Cruz could see someone behind them, begging for her assistance.

She studied him with a vague surprise. She had no idea the hotshot racer envied her ability to make friends. Then again, it came as no surprise that Storm didn't know how to form meaningful, lasting relationships with other people. It almost seemed as if he wore the smug, confident Piston Cup champion front 24/7 and forgot how to turn it off. But at this moment, it seemed that that façade had melted away, even if it was just for a few seconds.

Storm seemed to realize this too. He dropped his gaze, shifting away from her once more. "I don't what I'm talking about. I'm probably drunk or something." He faced the end of the street, peering off down the distant road.

Cruz stared off past him, down that path as well. The road was partially revealed by the hazy glow of the streetlights, but was otherwise still quite obscured under the cover of night. If she squinted, she could just make out his future. A future in which Storm had nothing but his trophies and accolades to line the interior walls of his trailer. Where every day he woke up with nothing but visions of victory dancing in his head. Where nothing else mattered. He was buried in his Piston Cups, to the point where nobody could get through to him. But then, the years would hit him. New racers. Old age. Those Piston Cups disappeared. And he was left with… still nothing.

The Dinoco racer rolled up beside Storm, sharing in this view with him. She had no doubt that he saw something similar. But that path wasn't fully lit yet. She still saw other possible futures ahead of him.

"You know, Storm… There's a lot more to racing than just winning…" Those words sent a strange chill down Cruz's chassis, as if she had heard them somewhere long ago. It almost seemed from a dream.

Storm scoffed. "Sounds like something only losers say."

Cruz shrugged. "I dunno. I know some losers who still love racing. They're happy…" She risked a glimpse out of the side of her eye at him. He blended in with the night, to the point where she wasn't sure if he was actually there. "...You don't seem like you are, though."

She watched Storm's eyes grow wide.

"What?"

His tone was hard to decipher, but at the very least, he wasn't outright angry, so Cruz felt she could continue.

"Winning isn't everything unless it's really all you have."

Cruz peered back over to try and gauge Storm's reaction, but it was impossible to tell what he was really thinking. Even with his guard down, Storm's cryptic expressions were difficult to interpret.

Cruz decided to turn this conversation back on herself. Partly to give Storm some breathing room, and partly because this impromptu therapy session went both ways.

She glanced down at the road. "As for me, well… I guess I wasn't as happy in my own metal as I thought I was. There's still a part of me that's afraid to fail. I'm… I don't want to disappoint the people I care about…"

Cruz noticed Storm stiffen beside her, and she tried to read him again, and maybe it was too dark to tell, but something about this seemed to resonate with Storm. Almost in a bad way. Like her words had pierced a part of him that he had kept hidden away for a long time. To the point where he didn't even know it existed. Or he wanted to forget that it did.

Cruz sighed. Either way, she wasn't getting a response from him. If he wanted to open up, it was now or never. But he wasn't giving her a thing. Maybe he was more well-adjusted than she thought he was. He could handle this on his own. Maybe there wasn't even anything to handle.

"Well, at least you've got your life all sorted out, Storm," Cruz said as she gazed over at him once more. "Props to you."

Again, silence. Though something shifted in his demeanor. Storm didn't even make a move, but it seemed as if something was burgeoning with him, struggling to break free. Whatever it was, Cruz was certain that it'd never see the light of day. She had done everything she could. And now she was done.

She turned and gestured toward the bar. "I'm gonna… head back inside now. I guess there really isn't anything left to say."

And Cruz headed back toward the bar. As much as it pained her to leave him behind, it was the right decision. She wasn't his trainer. She didn't have a responsibility to help him. She had extended a friendly tire in his direction, but he hadn't taken it. Her kindness only went so far. If her interactions with Jackson Storm were only making her more miserable, it was best to just cease them entirely.

"...I'm sorry."

Cruz stopped dead in her tracks. Was she hearing things? Or did Jackson Storm just apologize? She turned around slowly, reckoning that if she turned too fast, she'd scare off those apologetic words into the night, never to be seen again. The murky light shining down on her didn't detract from that daydreamy atmosphere. It almost didn't seem like things were actually happening.

The coupé squinted out into the dark, the glare of the light making it hard to see anything past its radius.

"What?"

Storm grumbled in annoyance and drove up to meet her in the pool of light. His face seemed almost that of a child, like one that was stubbornly made to apologize to a fellow classmate. "Are you really gonna make me say it again?"

Cruz opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn't seem to find anything to say.

Storm lowered his eyes, unable to maintain them on Cruz. Apologizing was clearly not something he did often—if ever. The experience was quite uncomfortable for him. Like getting a body modification. "Not just for L.A…. but…" He sighed, as if this was the biggest pain for him to do. "But also for what I did at Florida. And…" He twisted his tire against the ground awkwardly. "I… I guess I haven't really been the  _nicest_  person."

Cruz was still rendered speechless. She never thought she'd live to see the day where Storm was sorry for his actions. Maybe there was still hope…

The fumbling racer peeked a glance up at Cruz, and became unnerved at her lack of response. He seemed embarrassed, almost to the point where he desired to take back his words. But it was too late now. "So? You happy now? Maybe now we can finally move on with our lives?"

Cruz snapped out of her reverie. "You really mean it?"

Storm was impatient. "Yeah."

Cruz turned this over in her head. Was this all finally over? Just like that? Would she be willing to put this all behind them? It didn't seem right for some reason… It wasn't fair for him to get off the hook that easily. No…

She smiled at a sudden idea that occurred to her. No… this could be worked out a different way.

"If you really mean it…." Cruz began. Storm moved up closer, eager to have her forgive him as soon a possible. But she wasn't done.

"...I want you to do something then…" she finished.

Storm groaned, throwing his eyes up to the sky. Begging at the heavens. "What  _now_?"

Cruz took a deep breath, raising herself up on her suspension. She was totally clear-headed now. "I want you to teach me how to win again. Because I can't anymore. And I need help…" She glanced down for a second before adding the last part. "Help from  _you_."

Storm was taken aback. It was a moment before he recovered, frowning in suspicion. "I thought you said winning wasn't everything. But it clearly means  _something_ to you."

Cruz dropped her gaze. "I know… It's something I'm working on. For now though…" She locked eyes with him, a new resolution burning within her. "I want to do the best I can."

This determination struck a chord with Storm. Something about it was so familiar to him. But even still…

"But we race against each other." He brought a wall of distrust between them again. "You want  _me_  to teach you how to get faster than me?"

Cruz forced on a tight smile. She was afraid of that. "Well, they say the teacher learns as the student learns, ya know?"

"Who says that?"

"Dunno."

Storm looked off past Cruz, and he appeared to actually consider this. He returned his eyes to hers. "What do I get out of this?"

Cruz had thought this part through, fortunately. "I teach you how to live. And I mean really  _live._  Because… it might just be me but…" She hesitated. It was risky to go this far. But what the hell, she was in this deep already. "...But you don't seem to have a life outside of racing…"

Storm's eyes widened for a second before forming a harsh glare. Yup, he was offended. "What's  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"You said you didn't know how to make friends, didn't you?" Cruz wasn't about to back down here.

Storm adopted a defensive expression. "That's not what—!"

Cruz cocked a lid. She knew what she heard.

Storm wracked his mind for a less compromising explanation, his eyes going back and forth, desperate to come up with something. "I just… Nobody ever told me how to… I've just never had…"

Cruz had to admit: it was a special kind of victory in seeing Storm so tongue-tied and flustered.

"I've just never had anyone to… to…"

"You have me," Cruz cut in without thinking.

Storm's wandering eyes shot back to Cruz's. Cruz suddenly regret her choice of words. Storm broke into his own triumphant smirk as it was Cruz's turn to get bashful.

"Uhh, anyway!" Cruz began backing toward the bar. "You don't have to answer right away. Just whenever you feel like it. You know where I am!... Usually…" She quickly spun back around, rushing back through the doors of the bar before she could make any more regretful propositions. She could feel Storm's gaze on her as she departed.

But Storm's smug grin soon faded away just as quickly when the reality of what had just transpired settled over him. Oh, that happened. That just happened. The gasohol was making it hard to remember exactly, but Storm was fairly certain he had just spilled some compromising information.

Jackson Storm was getting friendly with a non-friendly. And the worst part was, he didn't particularly despite it.

* * *

Back at Radiator Springs, Lightning and the rest of the residents were just settling in at Flo's Café after a long, blistering day. Even at this time of night, the temperature wasn't pulling any punches. 'Tis the perks of living in hillbilly hell.

The heat destroyed just about any plans the gang had for the day, so most of it was spent idling around, complaining about how hot it was. Lightning and Sally, of course, had their own little secret that there were planning on keeping hidden from the rest of the town. There had yet to be an actual proposal, after all.

The others were still bellyaching about the heat, except this time, it was under the arid cover of the night.

"It's so dadgum hot that—"

"We know, Mater," Lightning cut him off. "It's hot. Can we give that a rest?"

The tow truck frowned. "You ain't even heard what I was gonna say! I  _said_ , it's so dadgum hot that I can hear a car coming where there ain't even any!"

Lightning gave him a look of disbelief. "Mater, it can't be so hot that you're hallucin—"

But then Lightning heard it too. The distant sound of a car engine approaching down the road. He and the others moved out to peek down the street.

"In this heat?" Lightning wondered aloud.

"Ooh, I better get that coolant ready!" Flo announced, heading to her station.

Lightning squinted in the darkness. "Who is that…?"

The stranger eventually got close enough that they were visible in the streetlights. They were an older, green sports coupé. Their demeanor was hesitant as they drove up to Flo's Café, acting as if they weren't meant to be there.

"Sorry for intruding at this hour, but I was wondering… is Cruz Ramirez here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this mystery character at the very end… I was thinking of them as a 2000 SVT Ford Mustang Cobra R. Because Mustangs yo. Hmm, wonder who it is…
> 
> Song credits: The one that Danny sings: Richard Marx's "Right Here Waiting." Cruz and Jackson's song: "Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)" from Annie Get Your Gun, composed by Irving Berlin. Never actually seen this musical, but the song seemed fitting. Though I've been under the impression that this song is kind of a meme…
> 
> Fun fact: I based Bubba's love of heavy metal on… well, the real Bubba's apparent love for it on Twitter.
> 
> I was hoping to give Smokey or the other legends a bigger role in the story, but things changed, so you get this. Also, here's that Storm/Cruz ship-teasing I promised y'all. And some subtle Louise/Doc, if you squint.
> 
> Oh, and I'm not sure if Radiator Springs is located in a desert exactly, meaning that it might actually get kind of cold at night instead of hot. Oops.


	14. Glory Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially planned to have Chapter 14 and 15 be one chapter, hence the shortness of this one. As for the late update, apologies are due, of course. I got really busy at the end of the semester, but I'm on summer break now. I was also struggling to find the interest and motivation to continue working on this fic, but one way or another, I got this chapter done. It's good to be back though. Sorry for making some of you wait!

**Chapter 14: Glory Days**

_A few days later..._

Cruz rounded the bend of the Thomasville Speedway, narrowing her eyes in optimal concentration. The cool, early morning June air rushed against her windshield, leaving her metal exterior cold and stiff. She pictured herself as a bullet winding around the track, her momentum locking her in a never-ending loop. That inkling of anxiety that rose within her whenever she headed toward a wall—now a distant memory. Cruz had other priorities at the front of her mind. Like making those turns faster.  _Faster._  Her surroundings blurred past her, encasing her in a disorienting vortex. Was she going any faster? She couldn't trust herself to determine that.

Luckily, she had someone else to rely on of better judgment. Cruz made one last lap around the track before petering over to Danny, who was watching her from the infield.

"How was that?" Cruz asked, slightly out of breath as she approached.

The Octane Gain racer squinted in thought. "Not bad. You're still going kinda slow 'round those curves, though."

Cruz heaved a deep breath, and her greyish frame sunk to the ground. That fear gnawing at the back of her mind burrowed deeper. And that fear had a voice:

_You're not good enough. When you make your big comeback, you're going to be unbelievably slow, and everyone will laugh at you. You've lost it, Cruz. You'll never be as good as you once were, let alone better than Storm._

Sensing Cruz's concern, Danny endeavored to cheer her up.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Cruz. You'll get there…" His final word wobbled with uncertainty. "...eventually."

Cruz shook her hood, attempting to shed her gloomy expression. She didn't want to make Danny worry. "You should be the one practicing right now. It's the day of  _your_  race, after all."

Danny waved her off. "Eh, I can spare a few minutes to watch you race."

Cruz picked up her hood, offering him her best smile. "Thanks."

But Danny wasn't quite finished. He shrugged, shying away from her gaze. "I mean, for you, I got all the time in the world, you know?" He fidgeted, full of nervous energy.

"Uh, huh."

The purple racecar shot up on his suspension, tense in anticipation. "So, uh, Cruz! I was thinkin', uh. I mean, I wanted to talk to you about something. It's something that's been on my mind for a while now—"

"Hold that thought, Danny." Cruz's attention diverted towards the entrance, from which she heard the faint rumble of a car. "Someone's coming."

"But—"

A dark green, broad hood emerged from the tunnel. Once out in the light, the rest of the stranger's physique was compact, telling of a sports coupe lineage. Though their form was rigid and straight, their low, smooth, windshield and hood gave the appearance of being laid-back and almost meek. This car was of the older variety, someone who looked as if they had potential, but it had faded away into the past, along with their paint.

Cruz squinted, not being able to make out the car's features clearly enough. "Who's that?"

As the green coupe grew closer, their face became more discernable. The male vehicle's hazel eyes began to widen upon seeing Cruz. He seemed to be unsure that what he was seeing was real.

Cruz's own eyes mirrored his as he came more into view. "Wait…"

The stranger, who was becoming less and less of a stranger, peered at the silver coupe before him with a mixture of uncertainty, surprise, and apprehension. He slowed to a stop some feet away, almost hesitant to come near.

"Cruz?..." He was trying out the sound of the name. "Is that you?"

Somehow, by pronouncing her name, he had confirmed his identity to her. Cruz had seen photos of him before, but she hadn't been sure it was actually him. It was as if believing in the idea of him was too painful of a hope. It was foolish to dream. And yet…

"It's… you," Cruz stated softly, as if staring at an enigma.

Danny was confused. "Who?"

The man tore his eyes away from Cruz to meet Danny. "I'm her father, Carlos. I'm…" He turned back to Cruz, careful once more. "I'm here to talk to you, Cruz... If that's okay."

The silver coupe wasn't sure how to react. How were you  _supposed_  to react in these situations? Cruz's father had never really been a part of her life. Neither of her parents were, really. Her aunt and cousins were the ones who comprised her family. But this man who called himself her father after abandoning her when she wasn't even old enough to remember... Was she supposed to be upset? Shocked? Curious? Turn him away? Or hear him out?

Cruz didn't have much animosity in her toward anyone. And she was interested in hearing what he had to say. It wasn't like she hadn't wondered about him before. Especially during those low moments in her life. When she felt like she had nobody there to cheer her on. Of course she had to know what happened.

"Danny…" Cruz said, not taking her eyes off of Carlos. Her father. "I'm sorry, but could you leave us alone for a little while?"

Danny could read the situation. "Yeah, sure."

The electric whir of Danny's engine faded into the distance, and all that was left was Cruz, Carlos, and the racetrack.

Now that they were alone, Carlos deemed it appropriate to approach. He made an attempt to appear cordial, but anxiety clouded his demeanor.

"Hello, Cruz. ¿Estás bien? I… heard about your crash."

Cruz, who had been in a daze up until this moment, snapped out of her reverie. "Uh, yeah! I'm fine now!... mostly."

The green vehicle was relieved, despite Cruz's uncertain tone. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks, but…" Cruz's own pleasantries fell away, though she bordered on curiosity rather than hostility. "Why are you here? I mean, where have you been for all these years? I didn't even know you were alive!

She caught herself before she lost herself in despair, dropping her volume. "Why did you… leave?"

Carlos inclined his hood. He was prepared for this reaction, and came equipped with an explanation. "I can answer those questions for you. But first… there's a story you need to know…"

Cruz waited with expectant eyes as the worn-down coupe closed his own, reclining back—as if rocking away into the past.

"A long time ago, I met a girl. She was a bright, positive, sunny coupe. For someone like me, who was always told to  _'Keep your hood down, Carlos,'_  she was everything.

"I had hopes, dreams, but I never had the confidence to see them through. I was just another farm boy. I didn't have talent anywhere else." Carlos adopted a sparkle in his eyes; his smile—bittersweet. "But… tú mamá… mi Cristal… she helped me to believe…" The light in his eyes flickered away. "That was... until…"

"She died…" Cruz finished, with an unintentional curtness. She had known how the story ended since she was young, so the outcome felt somewhat distant from her.

But the mention of the event still impacted Carlos. It was as if the life had gone out of him.

He hung his hood. "Sí. It… destroyed me." He picked up his gaze, some energy coming back to him. "But it didn't destroy my dream. I wanted to become a musician. Your mother reignited that spark in me. It was all I wanted to do then.

He looked off into the distance, drifting mile aways. "We were young…  _I_  was young…

His face darkened, and there was an anger festering, directed toward himself. "And I was selfish. A part of me wanted to leave my past behind. All those good memories I had were too painful. I wanted to start over."

"So you left." An understanding was beginning to grow on Cruz's face.

Carlos rolled up towards turn one to behold the dirt track. Cruz swung around to join him. Their movements created a small billow of dust which blew forward in the muggy morning breeze, disappearing into the air. Sunlight filtered through the trees surrounding the track, sifting through the particles floating in the light.

"I thought I'd come back one day," he continued, "once I made it big. But… I never did." He gave a bitter laugh, and shook his hood in disappointment. "I was hoping so badly to surprise you all with the news that I became famous. But I never did. And I was too ashamed to come back. How could I? When all my plans crashed and burned...

Cruz perked up at that final phrasing, which rang with some familiarity.

"I lost everything. I gave up on one dream, but I also gave up on the most important one of all..."

He locked eyes with Cruz.

" _You._ "

The Dinoco racer stared back at him in wonder before glancing away to take a moment to digest all this. No doubt his story reminded her of her own, except with a different ending—one that she wasn't already aware of. Even so, failure, too, was a part of her life. The only question was of how her father dealt with it.

"Then… why are you here now?" She studied him. "Do you need my help?"

Carlos shook his hood. "No, Cruz. I could never ask you for anything like that." He turned to face her, his expression sincere and determined. "I came here to make amends. To apologize, and tell you how proud I am of you. For making it. You succeeded, when I failed."

Cruz chuckled softly, casting her eyes to the ground. "If I'm honest, I never thought I'd make it either."

Carlos' eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah…" Cruz wore a sheepish smile. "I guess I'm kinda like you in that way."

"But look at you now, Cruz," Carlos said, gesturing at her. "You're one of the most famous racecars in the Piston Cup, maybe in all of racing!"

For a second, Cruz forgot she was wearing a dull, silver paint job, and instead, stood up tall on her tires, projecting that Dinoco design embodied deep within her chassis. She broke out into a more confident grin.

"It's all thanks to Lightning McQueen and all my friends for supporting me." Her strength faltered. "Especially since…"

Carlos' own enthusiasm faded, and he, too, was reminded of his daughter's ghosts. He furrowed his lids. "Are you really okay? Can you… still race?"

Cruz wrinkled her own lids, mulling over this. "I think so… But… I don't know if I'll ever be as good as I was before…" She tumbled into a greater distressed state, her voice going soft. "I'm afraid…"

Her father fell silent, staring down at the ground in thought. He seemed to be at a loss of what to do, and his visage was tinged with guilt—perhaps, for not being there for her in her time of need. As if he could have prevented the accident from happening to her if he were there.

But for Cruz, this issue bled deeper than just his absence at her races. It went back further than that. And suddenly, it was as if she needed someone to blame. Her worries snowballed into one, and were desperate to find somewhere—or someone—to direct them towards.

"You know... back then... it was like that," she began, her voice quiet, but steadily growing in volume and passion. "I didn't have anybody. Nobody was there to tell me, 'Cruz, you can do it!' 'Cruz follow your dreams!' 'Cruz, don't worry, because everything will be alright!'"

Cruz realized that she had lost control over her emotions by the end of her disclosure, and tried to recompose herself with a deep breath. Her words had poured out of her before she had a chance to properly think them through, but she knew that she had meant every single one of them. They were all true, and they had been hidden inside her for a long time.

For a moment, Cruz had a flash of déjà vu, as she felt this moment mirror the one she had with McQueen after the incident at Thunder Hollow. Pulled over on the side of the road, emotions flaring after McQueen lost his temper. It provoked Cruz into opening up about the things she struggled with, that tangled with her life.

The guilt only increased on Carlos' face. He moved closer, as if to comfort her, but he refrained from making any contact. He was afraid of making things worse, and wasn't quite sure what he could do to improve the circumstances.

"I know, mija. I wish I was there. I really do. But…" He was hesitant, hopeful. "I'm here  _now_."

Cruz dropped her hood in agreement. "I guess that's true."

Carlos laid a supportive tire against Cruz, prompting her to look up. His eyes were shining. "Cruz, you have so much hope. I don't know if this means anything to you, but… creo en ti."

Cruz's eyes were wide, reflecting that hope. "You do?"

"Sí."

The racer took a moment to mentally revisit the details of the recent conversation, taking all the parts into consideration.

"You know… I might not have been where I am now if you'd stayed. So, when I think about it like that… I guess I wouldn't have changed a thing." The rising sun glimmered off Cruz's silver surface, and her eyes glowed golden brown in the light, as did her father's. "Everything that's happened since the day I was manufactured has shaped me into the person I am today. The good,  _and_  the bad. Even the crash. And what happened, happened, and all I can really do is accept that and move on."

Carlos stared back, accepting of this analysis. That was really all he could make of it as well.

Cruz glanced down, pausing for a moment, before lifting her eyes up at him. "Papá?"

Carlos wasn't expecting the name, and it brought him a sudden, wistful joy. "...Yes?"

"The fact that you believe in me makes me think that there's still hope for you too."

Carlos shook his hood, a sad smile on his lips. "It's too late for me, mija. My 'glory' days are over."

A grin spread across Cruz's face. "I don't know. I know an old washed-up guy like you who still has a career. It just looks a little different than it used to."

The deep verdant colors of the trees surrounding the stadium restored the faded green paint of the coupe.

"Well in that case…"

The sun hung high in the sky over the Thomasville Speedway.

* * *

Cruz waited in the stands of the Charlotte Motor Speedway. After the meeting with her father, the two parted ways, though Carlos gave her his number, promising to keep in touch. It was still a little too soon for them to become father and daughter as if nothing happened, but they were on the path to some kind of relationship. Carlos himself still had some soul-searching to do, and he told her that he'd let her know if he had any luck in reviving his music career. But first, he was off to visit his sister-in-law and her sons, as he owed them an explanation as well. Cruz was reminded of them, and she felt a pang in her engine. She wondered if they had still given up on her. Or did they hang onto the tiniest shred of hope? No matter what they were thinking, Cruz was glad that she now had at least one family member who believed in her dream.

Cruz had gone with Danny to the race in hopes of it instilling in her the skills needed to win again. She thought that by being a spectator, instead of being on the tracks, she'd gain a different perspective on things. After all, she learned so much about racing alone from just watching the pros do it.

Despite not being in the race herself, Cruz still felt that chilly anticipation one gets before a big competition. Force of habit, perhaps. It might have been because a part of her was itching to get back on the asphalt. Her soul was still ingrained in the tracks. It never left, even after all that had happened. She longed to make a big comeback after her mysterious absence. She wanted to prove to everyone that she still had what it took. But she wasn't quite ready yet...

She would be.

* * *

Storm went through the motions of racing, as per usual, since he was such an expert at the sport. He could have glided around the track with his eyes closed. Maybe even asleep. His "not-first-place" streak prodded him in the back of his mind, but he wasn't too concerned yet. Not really. No, there were other things at the front of his mind. Thanks to his innate ability to multitask on the track, he was able to muse over these things, as he was want to do during many a race. This time, though, those things had a name. And that name was Cruz Ramirez.

He recalled back to that late night encounter a few days ago. The two of them hadn't met again since that time. He had trouble remembering what happened exactly, which may or may not have been due in part to the amount of gasohol he drank. It all seemed like a confused blur. Maybe it never actually happened. It was too uncomfortable for him to admit to happening. But Storm had been sober enough to know that it indeed did occur.

He thought about her offer. Why couldn't they just break ties completely? They had made amends, hadn't they? Wasn't that good enough? She wouldn't forgive him unless they started working together. As a  _team_. The idea was ridiculous. Besides, Storm didn't need her forgiveness anyway. As long as he could move on with his life, that was all that mattered.

Storm sped down, in alliance with his thoughts. He was hardly conscious of it. Maybe he wasn't so good at multitasking with heated emotions at play as he thought.

According to Cruz Ramirez, though, Storm didn't have a life. He smirked to himself, dismissing the idea. What was she, his guidance counselor? He'd never live it down if he sought her advice for anything…

Nevertheless, he held the possibility in his mind, working it over. As reluctant as he was, he couldn't help but be drawn to it.

Maybe he'd offer her a few tips on her racing. Just to keep her happy. But a nagging fear grew in his mind, that of which had been buried there for a long time. What if she got better than him? What if, when she'd return to the track, she'd replace him as the fastest racer in the Piston Cup? In fact, anyone could. He was replaceable, as he always knew he was, because they'd just churn out the next Next-Gen to fill his place. He always knew this and was convinced that he was comfortable with it, but only now did the thought bother him so much. What would become of him then?

What  _then_?

The dark grey racecar grit his teeth, pushing forward.

He wouldn't let that happen.

* * *

Storm made his way through the crowd of fans and reporters, so accustomed to their presence that he could navigate them without even looking. This time, though, he made sure to relish in their attention. He had finally broken his losing streak by taking first place in the race. It was a slump after all, like he always knew. Even the mighty Jackson Storm wasn't immune to a few losses every once in a while.

He participated in interviews with his usual cool nonchalance, answered questions with biting wit, and signed autographs like second nature. And all the while, all he could think about was how foolish he had been to consider Ramirez's help. At the very least, he could outlive Ramirez on the racetrack. The idea of her being the first one to retire satisfied him. It was good enough. He was fine. He was doing perfectly fine.

But then his eye caught a flash of silver somewhere far off from the sea of vehicles. And his engine lurched under his hood, and he cursed himself for it. It was stupid to be so naively hopeful. And for no good reason.

Nevertheless, Storm felt himself tear away from the hustle and bustle, and drift toward the distant sight, as if under the influence of a magnetic pull. But the closer he got, the farther and farther away the silver surface got away from him. Whoever they were, they were leaving.

Storm picked up speed, desperate even, to catch up with this person. He knew it didn't make any sense in his mind to follow this vehicle, who was likely just a stranger, but he couldn't help but believe.

The silver car reached the exit, but Storm was catching up to them now. They couldn't get away, not with his agility. Despite being donned in a pink feather boa, and large, cat eye sunglasses, he recognized their make and model.

"Hey!" he shouted, in hopes of stopping them in their tracks. But they continued on, rushing through the tunnel and emerging outside the stadium.

Storm followed after, soon only yards away from them.

"Hold it!"

This seemed to get their attention, though Storm was sure that they heard him the first time. The silver sports car eased to a halt, still facing away from him. Their form was sleek and slim; their features: round and lacking any sharp edges. Yet their low profile and futuristic design was familiar.

The shiny coupe wheeled around halfway, refusing to turn all the way around to meet Storm's eyes.

"Sorry, kid. You must have the wrong person. There's no way a famous celebrity like Jackson Storm would know someone like me." The speaker had a smooth, feminine voice, which carried an underlying sarcastic tone. She spoke with a poor, exaggerated New York accent, designed to disguise.

Storm's engine shook under his hood—his RPM soaring (due to his sudden burst of physical activity and  _not_  anxiety, he assured himself). He recognized that voice. The young racecar entered yet another dreamlike state, not unlike that of which he experienced a few nights ago. He was caught off-guard by this person's arrival, grappling for something—anything to keep him in control. This wasn't like a race on the simulator or even on the physical track. There wasn't a plan or rules he knew of to deal with this situation, that of which he had only imagined and dreamed of. This was real.

He huffed a breath to release the tension in his frame. "You're not fooling anyone. I know who you are."

The woman sighed, defeated.

"My agent always told me I was bad at accents," she said, dropping the false one she had adopted. She shrugged, pushing herself higher off the ground. "Oh, well. It was worth a shot."

She turned all the way around to finally face her pursuer. Storm searched her appearance, looking for confirmation that she was who he thought she was. As if her voice wasn't enough. The costume was hardly enough to make her invisible, but he still had to be sure.

The silver vehicle lifted a tire to push her sunglasses up past her windshield. Ice blue eyes met dark grey ones. It was like Jackson was staring back at a piece of himself—a past chapter of his life that he thought he had lost forever. But here it was again, like nothing had ever happened. He didn't know whether to be happy or mad.

He chose something akin to the latter. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

The mysterious lady donned a coy smile, lidding her eyes to demonstrate her collectedness.

"What do mean? Am I not allowed to watch  _my own son_  race?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, these absent parents are popping up like weeds! But in all seriousness, I didn't originally intend to have both Cruz's and Jackson's parental situations parallel each other so much. Speaking of parents, apparently Danny's Latin Spanish name in Cars 3 is Carlos?...Oops… And yes, I did name Cruz's mother Cristal, after Cristela. The name kind of has some significance if you overthink it. Also, just as an FYI, I changed Cruz's mother's model to a 2005 Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged. So there's that. As for Jackson's mother, think sleek. Maybe a BMW i8. (I know they're fairly recent cars, but I don't know how car ages work in the Carsverse, so let's just go with it. And let's be honest, Jackson is in a whole 'nother league of his own, so his parents are special too).
> 
> [EDIT: Changed Cruz's mother's name from Cristela to Cristal. Just to avoid confusion.]


	15. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how I mentioned in the author’s note of the very first chapter that this fic might contain a few f-bombs? Well, we’re about 3 quarters of the way through, and I realized that I haven’t even used it once. So I figured I might as well drop one in here to spice things up. Guess who’s the one to say it.

It was just the type of response Storm had expected from her. His mother never did like confronting conflict head-on, instead preferring to deal with it behind the cover of sarcastic quips and glib remarks. It was almost as if she lived in a constant state of ignorant bliss, never bothering to peek outside and acknowledge the world crashing down around her. It was easier to just to slip on a pair of sunglasses that shielded her from the accurate version of reality. Something about that kind of behavior was eerily familiar to Storm, but he shelved it away in his mind to agonize over for another day.

Regardless, two could play at this tennis match of sarcasm.

“Oh, right, you just _decided_ to stop by out of the blue to watch me race. You have time for that, but you can’t find a second in your busy schedule to drop by our house and visit once in a while?”

Storm’s mother sighed. “It’s not that simple, Jackson—”

“Really? Then how do you explain the fact that you didn’t stick around after the race either?” He threw his tires up into the air. “Do you just have a habit of pulling your vanishing tricks wherever you go?”

She matched his exasperation. “Jackson, please. Let me explain.”

But Storm wasn’t having any of it. A small part of himself in the corner of his mind knew he was losing his grip on his temper yet again, but he pushed that remaining piece of sensibility even further back.

“What? What’s this about?” Another upsetting thought invaded his mind. “Money? Is that it?”

His mother jerked back, clutching a tire to herself in melodramatic offense. “What? No! What kind of person do you think I am?” She tossed back one loose end of her feathered boa, straightening up on her axles. “Besides, I don’t even need money. I’m perfectly adjusted, thank you very much.”

She paused a moment, smiling to herself, before changing face and casting Storm a suspicious glance from the corner of her eye. “Why? Did your father ask you?”

Storm hesitated. “Yeah.”

The sleek coupe gave a dry laugh. “Huh. Typical.”

Somehow, sharing in their common resentment of John Storm shook Jackson Storm back to his senses. He noticed that they were located near the entrance of the speedway, which attracted a few eyes their way. Knowing that the paparazzi were always on his tailpipe, Storm desired a more private location to discuss matters with his mother.

“Come on,” he said to her, nodding to a more secluded section surrounding the stadium. “Someone’ll recognize me.”

But before he could move another inch, he caught sight of just the type of person he was concerned about.

“Uhh, hey, Storm,” a silver-painted Cruz Ramirez said as she approached from the entrance. She was hesitant, unsure of where she now stood on Storm’s acquaintance list.

Storm, instead, yanked his hood away, groaning. “Out of all the times,” he muttered under his breath.

Cruz’s vision drifted over to the other silver coupe next to Storm. “Who’s...?”

Storm’s mother gave a calm, self-satisfied smile. “Jacqueline. Jacqueline Winter. I’m Jackson’s mother.”

Cruz’s eyes widened in disbelief. “ _No._ ”

Jacqueline’s lid twitched downward. “Yes.”

The racer shook her hood. “Nooo way! What a coincidence, I—” She cut herself off, giving both Jacqueline and Storm another look over. Her expression grew serious as she read the situation.

“Ohh, is-is this a bad time? I can come back.” Cruz began to wheel around.

“How about you _never_ come back?” Storm said, glowering at her.

Cruz stopped and turned back. “ _Hey!_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Jacqueline cut in, “But who are you? An ex?”

Storm gawked at her. “What makes you say that?”

Jacqueline rolled her eyes up the sky. “Oh, just the way you talk to her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I’m just a friend,” Cruz piped up. “I’m—” She paused as she remembered that she was supposed to be incognito. “—Frances Beltline!”

Jacqueline gave her a blank stare. “Really.”

“Yes?”

“She’s Cruz Ramirez,” Storm clarified as he moved up beside her. “She’s in the Piston Cup.”

Jacqueline’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Cruz Ramirez? I heard about you.” Her gaze settled on Storm, her smile wide and cheeky. “You’re the girl who flipped over my son.”

Cruz blinked. “Uh, yeah. I did that.” She leaned in close to Storm. “Thanks for blowing my cover.”

“Just get out of here,” he said, gritting his teeth.

Cruz turned her attention back toward Storm’s mother. “Okay. I just wanted to…” She glanced at Storm with intent to speak, but then decided against it. “Nevermind. I’ll, uh, see you. I guess.”

She addressed Jacqueline. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Storm!”

“ _Ms. Winter_ ,” Jacqueline corrected, her features tense.

“Oh! Right. Sorry!” She spun around, disposition still sunny, but eager to leave the duo to their personal business. The sunlight glittered off her silvery surface, even as her form diminished into the distance.

Storm and his mother watched her leave.

“Well. She seems charming,” Jacqueline mused flatly.

“Like you’re a bucketful of sunshine,” Storm shot back, with more venom than he intended.

Jacqueline started back, surprised. She caught herself doing it, and eased back into a relaxed position. “Sorry. I didn’t know you liked her.”

Storm frowned, replaying in his mind the last few seconds. “I—” He huffed, turning in the other direction. “Let’s just go somewhere else. I don’t want to run into any more people out here.” He headed for the main road.

Jacqueline smiled again—that knowing smile of hers—and settled in beside him.

* * *

The newly reunited pair traveled a short distance to a nearby park. They came to a small lake and sought refuge in the shade of some trees, since the heat of the afternoon warranted some relief. A fountain spurt out from the large body of water, the multiple streams pattering back down to its source. Storm and his mother inched up to edge of the lake, peering out at the faint ripples dancing across the surface. Whenever either of them moved, their treads would shift the dirt of the path beneath them. This, and the occasional distant shout and rumble of other park-goers pierced the air, preventing absolute silence. The two of them didn’t speak a word—pausing to breathe in the scene instead. Storm watched the reflection of the trees in the pool of water, their deep green, wavering lines standing out against the clear blue of the sky. He brought his eyes down closer to him, and he could make out the murky silhouettes of him and his mother. The park smelled of life.

The silent game couldn’t go on forever, but neither of them wanted to be the first one to cave. Storm figured Jacqueline would naturally be the one to start talking, since it was she who appeared to him in the first place, but she just stared ahead, waiting.

Storm huffed. He didn’t have the patience for this. He might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. The sooner, the better.

“So,” he began, not bothering to hide his irritation. “What brings you to this hellish swampland?”

Jacqueline tilted her hood over to him, eyes big in exasperation. “It’s like I told you, Jackie. I wanted to see you race.”

Storm widened his eyes facetiously. “Ohh, so it _is_ that simple.” He dropped his sarcastic front, scowling down at the rocks surrounding the lake. “And don’t call me Jackie.”

He saw Jacqueline’s expression contort into a hurt frown, but from his peripheral vision, it looked as if she was acting melodramatic. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to believe.

Jacqueline faced forward once again, and she didn’t reply for a while. She took a deep breath, as if inhaling the damp scent of the area, then exhaled.

“You know how you got your name, Jackson?” she asked him, still facing ahead. “Your father wanted you to be named ‘John,’ after him, because, well, everything _always_ had to be about him. But I wanted you to be called Jack, after _my_ name. But Jack was too short—too harsh. So we compromised on Jackson.” She sighed, almost nostalgic. “A name with a hard beginning and a smooth ending.” She turned to him, but Storm refused to meet her. “Fits, don’t you think?.”

When Storm didn’t respond, she sighed and turned away again, having spent enough effort at any sort of connection.

“So John’s out of money, huh?” she asked, rebuilding her usual, jaded charade. “Did you give him any?”

“No,” Storm replied flatly. “Why would I?”

The silver coupe shrugged. “I dunno. I thought maybe you two would have… made up by now?”

Storm snorted. “As if. He had to _pretend_ he was sorry to even get my attention.”

Jacqueline raised her lids, her cadence ironic. “Good ‘ol John—a conman to the end.”

Storm pulled his lips into a thin line. He didn’t want to admit the fact that he actually fell for his father’s false attempts at reconciliation. But the truth was obvious enough from his dour demeanor alone.

Jacqueline paused, casting a quick glance over at Storm. “He’s stubborn to admit when he’s wrong… sound familiar to you?”

“No.”

She took another moment to think, dwelling longer on her past relations. “He’s got a temper on him, that’s for sure. It’s more obvious on him than it is on you, though. John tends to be a little more… stern.”

Storm whirled around to face her, impatient. “Stop changing the subject. Why did you run when I saw you?” He grew sardonic once more in order to balance his anger. “Or—here’s a better question: how come I’m only seeing you  _now_?”

“Now, you know, Jackson—”

“Stop saying my name like you know me!” His frustrations boiled over, despite himself.

Jacqueline flinched and drew back again, but this time, Storm’s attention was on her, and he could see, in full extent, the effect his behavior had on her. And it wasn’t good. He tried to convince himself that it was the way her eyes pulled at his conscience (the eyes always got you), but this wasn’t an act. This wasn’t another one of her roles. His words had indeed wounded her. And it was as if the daggers he hurled ricocheted right back at him, their damage tenfold.

She scrambled to muster something, anything to recover. “I wanted to be… famous.”

_“Famous?”_   Storm scoffed and tossed his hood away from her. “That’s it? Well, guess what?” He returned with a vengeance. “Your _son’s_ famous now, so your dream came true after all!”

Jacqueline grimaced. “It’s not just that. I wanted to be _rich_.” She gave a laugh in attempt to diffuse the tension. “I mean, who doesn’t?”

“You’re already rich though,” Storm shot back. “You were married to my _father_  !”

Jacqueline shuffled some dirt with her tire. “About that…”

Storm squinted. “What?”

She continued to fidget, letting her eyes roam anywhere but in Storm’s direction.

Storm watched her do this and realization began to settle over him. He narrowed his eyes at her—both surprised, but not really surprised at all.

“Wait… you were a golddigger?”

Jacqueline’s eyes grew wide. “No!” Her expression relaxed. “No… Not exactly…” She squirmed. “Maybe just a _little_ …”

Storm was not impressed.

“I wanted a nice life,” she explained, peering up at him, entreating him to understand. “After growing up with nothing, I was desperate to have _something_. _Everything_.”

Storm blew air through his lips, jerking away. “Well, you _had_ it.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t _mine_.” She shifted back. “And you father and I—we didn’t work out.”

“Wonder why.”

Jacqueline pressed her lips together, giving him a weary look before glancing down at the ground.

There was a cooling silence as the two allowed some time for the agitated atmosphere to die back down. Storm’s line of sight wandered over to a family on the other side of the lake. The group stopped to admire the vista before continuing down the dirt path surrounding the body of water. Storm watched their forms disappear down the road to another area of the park.

“You’re an actress, right?” he said aloud, almost to nobody in particular.

Jacqueline sighed, as if the mention of work suddenly brought a load onto her cab. “I’ve hopped from one thing to another for the past years. But yes—I’m an actress. I’m doing well enough with it. I haven’t landed any major roles yet, so I could be doing better.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Beats modeling at least.”

This piqued Storm’s interest, as it reminded him of one of his former odd jobs. “Modeling? You too?”

Jacqueline was intrigued by his turn of attitude. “What?” A sly smile spread across her face. “Don’t tell me you did it too?”

Storm shrugged, shifting his weight. “...Something like that. But nowadays, modelling is basically part of my contract. What with all those product endorsements…”

Jacqueline nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen a few of your ads…” Another smile formed, but this time, it held a note of sincerity. “You do it quite well. _Very_ convincing.”

The racer’s interest in the topic faded as he gazed out at the lake. A brief silence transpired once again, but this one started escalating the tension instead of diffusing it. Having tired out so many tangents, Storm could feel the elephant in the room grow bigger and bigger. He couldn’t stand to have it ignored any longer—and he knew that Jacqueline wanted to keep it that way.

“So, what’s the deal?” Storm angled his wheels in Jacqueline’s direction, but he couldn’t quite lock eyes with her. “You’re too busy to say hi?”

Jacqueline brought up a wall of defense. “It’s not like we’ve never spoken before! I called, remember? _I sent you birthday gifts_!”

“You called maybe 3 times, and even when you did, it was always about you!” He sank to the ground. “Besides, you always sent my presents late.”

Jacqueline scoffed, unabashed. “Like I said, I was busy!”

“Too busy to visit even once?” Storm revved up closer, his normally cool grey eyes now hot coals, boring into her. “ _Once_?”

The grey racer’s harsh emphasis on the repetition of the word seemed to have an effect on Jacqueline. She moved back, her eyes darting around as if grappling for an explanation. “Well, you know, plane tickets _are_ expensive _._..”

Storm shook his hood in disgust, reversing away. “Sounds like an excuse.”

Jacqueline searched the ground, sifting through the thoughts fluttering around in her head.

“I just… thought you might not want to see me…”

Had Jacqueline slapped Storm in the face, it would have been less insulting than that very claim. Did she truly believe that he didn’t want to see her? After all that time she had spent away from him? Though the memories were hazy, Storm recalled his persistent inquiries about his mother’s return when he was younger. But those rare times when she did contact him, she always had excuses. Then he stopped asking. And his mother stopped calling.

It made sense why she would think something like that. Even Storm managed to convince himself that he didn’t need her, nor wanted to lay eyes on her ever again. But he couldn’t fool himself—not really. Though he had tucked those thoughts and feelings in the back of his mind, their effects were always there. Their traces were in the people he saw, the things he did. Though he loathed to admit these facts about himself, he couldn’t stay in denial forever.

Storm’s contemplative silence unnerved the silver coupe.

“You’re mad… aren’t you?” she asked, peering up at him like a guilty child.

Storm stumbled over his words, at a loss of what to say. “I just—I don’t get—why, why you couldn’t visit... back then.” And then it was his turn to be the child, fixing his eyes down at the ground in order to conceal his emotions. He was confused—lost. His mind flashed back to his earlier years, during those times of loneliness, when he would hole himself up in the darkness of his room and wonder “Why? _Why?_ ” This regression back to his childhood made him vulnerable, and he hated it. He could feel that hurt naivety displayed on his face, but he couldn’t do anything to ward it off.

Jacqueline’s eyes grew soft, and for the first time in the conversation, she fit the appearance of a mother. She wanted to comfort him, shield him from the truth, but she knew she had to give him the cold, hard facts. “I… I never should have gotten married and… had a family. It wasn’t for me… I was young and I… I didn’t think it through.”

This did nothing to reassure Storm. His eyes darkened and fear flashed across his face. He lifted his hood to stare at his mother, and that dread was evident in his eyes. It was so startling on him that even Jacqueline seemed concerned.

“So… you’re saying… I’m a _mistake_?”

Jacqueline was shocked, and a similar horror reflected in her own expression. “No! It’s-it’s not like that, Jackson!”

“ _Stop saying my name!_ ”

Jacqueline stiffened, as if the words had physically impacted her. Her expression slowly shifted into a different one. It was as if the stolen time had finally caught up with her, adding more and more gravity to her carriage. She was a different person now—stripped away of her costume, though her accessories still lay across her body.

“I’m sorry... I was stupid, and... I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought it’d be easier to just start over like nothing happened. Not just easier for me, but for _you_ too.”

Storm recomposed himself with his usual cynicism. “Right, because it was _real_ easy for me.”

Jacqueline stretched out a tire, as if to touch him, but just as soon withdrew it. “That was _my_ mistake. Once I realized it, so much time had already passed. And so quickly too; I didn’t even notice it. By that point, I felt too guilty to come back to see you.” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “I mean, I _did_ basically abandon you.”

Storm was silent, taking this in.

“I’m not perfect, Ja—” She caught herself, remembering his dismay at the sound of his own name, then sighed. “I was selfish.” She tilted her lids skyward. “I still am. I was never big on trying to make close friends and keeping in touch with them. I just wanted to know how I could use them to my advantage.” She grew a decade older in a matter of seconds. “And before I knew it, I was alone. I already was for a long time.”

Storm didn’t want to admit it, but her reflections struck a chord with him. They burrowed deep into his body, instilling him with a kind of desperate panic. As if time were slipping through his treads like sand, too fast to contain. That embodiment resided there, and its presence changed something within him. Slowly, but surely.

“So, what is this? A midlife crisis or something?” he asked her.

Jacqueline shrugged. “Maybe. I guess I’m desperate. I have everything I want, but there’s still things missing. So I’m trying to go back and pick up the things I dropped.”

The feeling within him kept spreading, but transformed as it ascended.

“You want to be a family again.”

Jacqueline narrowed her eyes in contemplation.

“I just want… someone...”

_Someone…?_

Storm snuck a look at his mother, but her expression didn’t leave any clues to her true meaning. She was relaxed, peering out at the lake as if she were a clairvoyant projecting into the future. She, too, seemed uncertain of what that held exactly. The dazzling reflection from the pure blue lake imbued her already light blue eyes with an even more radiant, silvery hue.

Jacqueline broke away from the lake to cast a glance at Storm, prompting him to duck his hood back to the front.

“Yeah, well, it’s pretty pathetic, I know,” she said, that wry smile back on her face. “Here I am, begging for you to let me be your mother again because I’m so damn lonely. And you hate me.” She turned away again, still smiling, but something about that expression made it seem as if it could shatter into a million pieces at any second. “Of course, I don’t blame you. I didn’t come here thinking you’d want anything to do with me.” She paused, and the moment was a fraction too long for comfort, urging Storm to give her another look, but something inside steered him away.

“But… I just thought…”

Her voice was hanging on a thread, seizing Storm with an immobilizing anticipation. He couldn’t bear to hear what was next. He needed to run away. But his inner workings tightened, locking him in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He could hear his mother stress over which words to use, and it felt like she was stretching this moment out to the thinnest. With each passing second, the tension in his chassis heightened. He knew his eyes were open, but he couldn’t register what was before him.

“I don’t know, I-I wanted to see you…” Her voice strained, and Storm could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn.

“Even…” Her last words were a whisper. Storm isolated everything else. “...just once.”

That bottled up energy drained from him in an instant, shocking him back into the waking world. He tuned in to the ambient noise of the park which filled the silence she left, using it to distract him from the confession echoing in his audio receptors.

She didn’t say anything more, and rather, expected Storm to provide some sort of feedback. But he recoiled from that opportunity. It was easier to just observe the lake and acknowledge her that way. She turned to join him, and he half expected to hear some weeping—it certainly did sound possible, what with her voice breaking at the end—but she was silent. Storm almost wished she would cry, since she was so gifted at shedding crocodile tears, given her acting career. Or at least he imagined. That way, this whole interaction would be a play. But his mother was calm. Calm, but wistful. So he knew her sentiments must have been genuine, because they probably wouldn’t have been otherwise. And that’s what scared him the most in that moment. It was real.

Another appropriate length of silence passed, before Jacqueline took a deep breath, recomposing herself. She turned back to her son, her attitude light and conversational once more.

“So… how are you?” She gave an uncomfortable laugh, which was unusual on someone as unaffected as her. “I mean, how have you been? I know your father was… financially endowed, so I figured you’d be fine with him. But…” She grew solemn. “Were you?”

Most of Storm’s animosity faded away. He wanted so desperately to conjure up the anger he felt just minutes earlier, but by this point, it had ebbed away. All that remained was a dull, accepting bitterness.

“It could have been worse. I was mostly bored,” he replied.

“Well, you seem to be doing okay now, at least,” she said, giving him a once-over. “ _More_ than okay.”

“All thanks to me.”

This struck Jacqueline with a vague surprise, and she was humbled by the reminder of her actions. She offered him sincerity. “I’m glad. I’m glad you’re doing so well. I really am.” She switched to humor once more. “No thanks to _me_ , of course.”

Storm allowed a quick glance at her. “Yeah.”

A transitory silence passed, and then Jacqueline exhaled with a sense of finality. “Well. I guess that’s it.” She tightened her boa which had fallen loose during the course of the conversation. “I know—it’d be too much to ask if you could get me an autograph from Lightning McQueen, so I’ll just leave now.”

Storm wrinkled his lids and granted her a look, but said nothing.

There was a beat of silence, and Jacqueline’s demeanor became serious again, her rigid posture slumping. She wheeled almost all the way around to face Storm, but he only glimpsed her for a brief second.

“I… I know this probably isn’t worth anything to you, but…”

And then it was like all the pretense and disguise slipped away completely. She stared directly at him, her body rigid with conviction, and Storm watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I can tell… or, at least I _think_ I can tell it’s… it hasn’t been too easy. You’re… you seem…”

She struggled to find the words, probing him with her eyes, as if she could pick out what was wrong exactly. But while she _could_ sense that there was something amiss, she couldn’t pinpoint its identity. All she could see was her own reflection glimmering on Storm’s sleek, polished body.

She laughed and cocked her hood to the side. “I don’t know… It’s like that saying: ‘We see things in others that we see in ourselves.’ Or something like that.”

Storm turned all the way to confront her for the first time this conversation with a certain resolve.

“Do you regret it then?” he asked, his eyes hard and searching.

“What?” She was wary.

“Leaving.”

Jacqueline frowned in thought, taking the time to pick her words carefully. Once landing on an appropriate answer, she returned his firm gaze. “I regret leaving you and not coming back.”

Storm’s fenders eased to the ground and he seemed satisfied with this answer. He could catch a splash of his own dark paint job reflected in his mother’s light, silver one.

“Well, I guess you’re right about that saying then,” he said, that silver color reminding him of the one a certain Dinoco racer had wore just earlier.

Jacqueline’s tight expression relaxed when she saw that her son was somewhat appeased. At least much less hostile than before. She gave him a small, but genuine smile, which Storm met with an even gaze. She wheeled around, as if to leave, but stopped.

“When’s your next race?” she asked him, her tone casual.

For the first time during their meeting, Storm’s expression softened, caught off-guard by this seemingly simple question. His astonished reaction loosened into a more pleased one, and he straightened up on his axles. A trace of that Storm-esque pride and confidence found its way back into his carriage.

“A week from now. 12 P.M. at the Texas Motor Speedway.”

“Mind if I come?”

Storm shifted to the side, rolling his eyes. “Well, it’s not like I can stop you.”

Jacqueline lifted his lids. “You could. If you don’t want to see me again.”

“Nah, that’d be too much trouble.”

Jacqueline smiled, and Storm could feel a hint of a smile on his face too.

“You… you can come.”

“Thank you, Jackie.”

The two met eyes and held contact for at least a couple seconds before Storm broke away. Content, Jacqueline rolled around, preparing to depart once more, but she stopped again, and turned back slightly, one last question in mind.

“Will Lightning McQueen be there?” she asked, her lids up high in a coy expression.

“Hell if I know,” Storm replied, his face souring at the thought of the veteran. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” she said, a sly grin still on her face.

His mother cruised away down the dirt path, yet again leaving mystery in her wake. Storm was forced to gape after her in vague, disturbed confusion.

“... _what?_ ”

* * *

Cruz waited by the entrance of the Charlotte Motor Speedway, having a cursory exchange on the phone with Lightning. What exactly she was waiting for was debatable. She knew Storm had driven off with his mother somewhere, and would likely be returning to meet with his hauler. She had approached Storm with the intent to determine where they now stood on the rickety bridge between friendship and rivalry. But she didn’t get a chance to assess that situation. Cruz figured she should have just left to rejoin her friends, but she insisted to them (and to herself) that she needed to stay stationary in order to make her phone call. Which wasn’t entirely truthful.

If Storm wanted to take her up on her offer, he knew where to find her… probably. There was no more negotiating owed on her part. She didn’t have to stay…

...but she figured she might as well stop and take a breather.

She explained how her meeting with her father went to an anxious Lightning McQueen.

“Yeah, it went alright,” she reassured him. More concerned babbles came from the speaker. “Don’t worry. I’m fine!”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Lightning replied, placated. “I mean, you kinda have a habit of keeping your worries to yourself, you know?”

Cruz bit her lip, staring down at the ground. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…” Her eyes shot up, reinvigorated. “But I’m working on it!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lightning said, and Cruz could hear his smile over the phone. “By the way, how was race? Watching it, I mean. Did it help you out?” His voice got low and he muttered, half to himself, “Even though Storm won it.”

Cruz perked up at the mention of the moody racer. “Oh yeah, if anything, Storm winning it made me want to get back on the track even more!”

“You’re using that, huh?” Lightning chuckled, referencing the Dinoco racer’s own motto.

She grinned. “Yup!” Her light-hearted expression faded, and she was hesitant to utter the next words. “Yeah, I was just waiting here for Storm to get back so I could talk to him...” She tensed up, bracing herself for her mentor’s likely disapproving response.

“Storm?” Yep, she could hear the displeasure in his voice, his tone dropping. “Cruz, I thought I told you to stay away from him.”

* * *

Storm darted in and out of traffic, those agile skills on the race track now applicable to the streets as well. He didn’t know why he was rushing. It wasn’t like he was late to practice with Ray again (though, if that were the case, he’d actually be taking his sweet, sweet time). The weaving wasn’t done out of boredom or amusement either. No, Storm had to get back to the speedway in order to catch Cruz Ramirez before she left. If she was even still there—knowing her persistent personality, he had a feeling she was.

The only question was why? Why did he want to get to her?

Somehow, his recent encounter with his mother had changed something in him. The feeling was akin to shifting gears. This fear caused him to plummet, as if he were in free-fall. His foundation for the world was crumbling, and despite the fact that he could rebuild it over time, it wouldn’t look the same reconstructed.

_“Do you regret it then?”_ His own words were coming back to haunt him. There was a reason why he asked that question. There was something acutely terrifying about seeing someone in their later years, after all their fame and glory, crawling back to the people they wronged. Having regrets when death came knocking at their door. Or in other cases, like these, when half your life was whisked away before your eyes. You can’t be surprised to find that everything you once had has disappeared when you never bothered to hold onto it in the first place.

Storm was stopped from advancing any further by a red light, but his thoughts still raced ahead, unhindered. He was stuck behind a big rig lugging around, what looked to him, radioactive waste. His engine idled, half in impatience, and half in anxiety, as he was reminded of those paralyzing musings he had that one night. When he had stormed out of the Cotter Pin Bar, drunk and angry.

His mother had the luxury of returning to the things she lost. Storm wouldn’t have such fortune if he didn’t have anything worth losing to begin with.

* * *

“Iiiii might have cut a deal with him.”

“You _what_?”

Cruz gave a nervous laugh in an attempt to diffuse Lightning’s growing agitation. It only made him more apprehensive.

“Cruz.” His voice was stern, reprimanding. “What did you do?”

“It’s not what you think, Mr. McQueen!” Cruz exclaimed, her volume attracting some attention. She lowered her voice. “I don’t owe him money or anything. I just…” She noticed that more eyes were on her. Was she still being too loud? She moved farther off to the side, facing away from them. “I just wanted to have some fun with him,” she finished, grinning. There was some amusement in getting under Storm’s paint, forcing him to be a cooperative member of society for once.

This did nothing to quell Lightning’s fears. “ _Fun?_ What… _kind_ of fun?”

Cruz popped up on her shocks, ignoring his question. “Oh, I thought he could help me with my situation too!”

“What? What are you talking about, Cruz? What’s this ‘deal’?”

Cruz snickered, taking some pleasure in keeping Lightning in the dark. “You’ll find out later. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Surprise?” He grew grim. “I don’t like surprises…” This was despite the fact that he quite often planned surprises himself.

“Don’t worry, I promise it isn’t—” Cruz cut herself off when she suddenly got the acute feeling that she was being watched. She turned around slowly, only to meet numerous pairs of eyes staring back at her. Tens of other vehicles had stopped to gawk at the reappeared celebrity, and a crowd was forming. The seas of eyes leering back at her reminded her of hungry children peering up at an adult hoarding candy.

There were whispers among them, but she couldn’t make out anything distinct. That was, until someone decided to set the dogs on her.

“It’s Cruz Ramirez!”

“Uh, oh.”

* * *

When Storm arrived back at the speedway, he expected there to be very few people still remaining. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a large crowd nearly blockading the entrance to the racetrack. They all appeared to be swarming around a single point. Curiosity piqued, Storm drew closer to determine the source. As he grew near, he could make out the hood of a silver vehicle at the center, with journalists surrounding them on all sides. The coupe was pushing past them in an attempt to escape their grasp.

“Cruz! What brings you here to the Charlotte Motor Speedway, despite not participating in the race?” one reporter questioned.

Another jabbed a microphone toward her face: “There have been rumors surrounding your long, unexplained absence from the Piston Cup since your accident. Care to fill us in on that?”

“Is it true that you’re done with racing for good?”

The now exposed Dinoco Racer continued to move away from them all, bothered by the spotlight, but still trying to remain cordial. “I just came to watch the race! But I’ll definitely be back well before the season ends!”

One vehicle, likely a fan (judging by the gear) sidled up beside her: “You haven’t been on social media or have had any contact with the Piston Cup during your hiatus. Was the wreck worse than it seemed?”

Cruz bit her lip, the question hitting on one of her insecurities about the whole incident. “I just needed a break,” she tried to explain. “It’s not that I don’t love interacting with you guys—because I do—I just… I just needed some time to myself.”

This prompted another flurry of inquiries, which only made Cruz more anxious about what they’d think of her reaction to the crash. Luckily, security had just arrived to lessen the force of the crowd, allowing Cruz to break away.

“I have to go now! Places to go, people to see.” She backed away from them all, smiling, but judging by her gradual reversing, eager to be on her way. “Thank you all for your support! You won’t be disappointed!” Though as she turned around to leave, that final sentence evaporated the firm grin on her face.

Storm watched her roll away, and he inched forward, considering catching up with her. But then he stopped, realizing that her cover had been blown, and everybody would soon know who she was upon seeing her in her silver paint job. And the public would undoubtedly recognize Storm if they ever saw him. The two of them seen together would arouse interest and intrigue, which was not what either of them wanted.

Storm stayed in place, feeling the crowd move past him, stragglers hoping to get one last photo of Cruz, ask one last question. Occasionally, a passerby would gently knock into him, which normally would have evoked a reaction out of him, but this time, he was still. Then Storm realized that despite being amidst a crowd, the only person that the public cared about at the moment was Cruz, and not him.

The smell of exhaust and the warmth of running engines flooded him on all sides and Storm watched throngs of individuals envelope him, acting as a wider and wider barrier between him and Cruz Ramirez. Cruz’s silver form diminished down the road, just barely in view. Though the congregation was what separated the two racers, it united them at the same time. Time eased to a halt and all was quiet. All other interference disappeared on the spot. It was just the two of them. Both frozen in place, with Storm staring after her receding figure. And the longer he looked on, the more he wondered if Cruz was aware of his lone presence there too.

* * *

It was early into the evening by the time Storm had returned to the Drive Inn Hotel. His late arrival was due to the fact that he needed some time on his own to digest recent events, and determine how to act in the future. He had called Gale in order to brief her on where he’d be (though he was surprised she didn’t contact him first). Somehow, she was able to detect Storm’s conflicted state over the line, and inquired about his condition. Once again, Storm had tried to convince her he was fine, and this time, she actually seemed to accept this. Maybe something in his voice had changed to reassure her. Maybe it was something about his attitude overall. Or maybe she was just glad for the break away from him. Either way, Storm was always impressed by Gale’s abilities to detect his true moods. It sometimes made him wonder if he was really that easy to read for other people.

When Storm entered the hotel lobby, he didn’t happen upon anyone he knew this time, which was somewhat of a relief for him. The last thing he needed at the moment was a meaningless interaction with an acquaintance. As he rode down the hallway to his hotel room, he decided to pay Gale a little visit. Storm was never one to talk about his feelings, or anything personal in his life, but this time he didn’t feel so reluctant to confide about recent occurrences. If there was anyone he’d do that with, it would be Gale.

Storm stopped outside Gale’s hotel room, which was some doors before his own. He frowned when he noticed that her door was left ajar. The lights were also off inside. Storm thought for a moment, finding the situation unusual. Maybe Gale had forgotten to close the door all the way on her way out. His mind then went to a much worse scenario. Maybe someone had broken inside?

He contemplated over checking it out, calling security, or simply closing the door all the way shut, but he figured he was brave enough to face whatever—or whoever—was inside.

Storm slipped through the threshold quietly, his engine barely making a rumble. He considered calling out, but then realized that such a sound would give away his position. He then cursed himself for banking on the burglar idea he had conjured up, now finding the possibility quite ridiculous. He decided he’d just turn on the lights.

He groped in the darkness a little ways inside for the light switch and lifted his tire to press it when he heard soft voices. He froze. They were too indistinct for him to recognize, which only raised his alarm even further. The moment he ceased moving, he heard the voices cut into silence as well. They knew he was there. The amplifying sound of his engine whirring under anxiety made him even more conspicuous.

Storm mentally debated what to do next. He swore he wasn’t scared at all, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he wasn’t exactly an experienced fighter. He knew how to do exactly one thing really well, and that was drive super fast in circles. He figured he had that on his side, at least.

_“Whoever they are, I can outrun them,”_ he thought confidently to himself.

Bolstering up courage he was sure he already had, Storm flicked on the switch, powering into the hotel room with one swift movement.

“Who’s there?” he demanded into the room.

The first person Storm laid his eyes on was a dark grey big rig. It was Gale. Storm was relieved for a split second, but then he discerned her shocked expression.

“Jackson?!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and horror.

And then Storm realized that Gale wasn’t alone. His eyes drifted over a little to the right, and that’s when he saw him. Another big rig. Painted red. A very familiar shade of red he had seen in his nightmares.

Storm felt his a part of himself die on the very spot.

“What the fuck?!”

* * *

_A few days later..._

Cruz, Lightning, and a handful of the other Radiator Springs residents were lounging at Flo’s Café, enjoying what little cool weather they had left before the heat of the afternoon. Cruz had returned from her trip to North Carolina in order to pay her friends a visit. Though the next race was in Texas, she and her Next Gen buddies had decided to spend their downtime in Arizona before heading back east toward the Lone Star state. Being there would also give her an opportunity to see her family, since it was their home state.

Cruz admired her newly re-painted yellow surface, with Dinoco blue accents to match. Ramone certainly never disappointed. “It’s good to be back in yellow.”

Lightning shot her a hopeful glance. “So does this mean you’re going to be in the race next week?”

Cruz nodded, though she still held some reservations about the her ability to race. “Yeah!” She focused on the ground in front of her, muttering, mostly to herself: “Don’t know if I’ll be winning it though…”

A large red form rounded the bend into their town, heading in their direction. Lightning perked up at the sight.

“Hey, there you are, Mack,” he greeted as the semi approached. “Where have you been?”

Mack dropped to the ground in shame, talking up a storm. “Sorry, boss. I know I probably shoulda told you, but I was worried about what you might think, so don’t get mad or anything, but—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Lightning said, holding his tires up in front of him. “Whatever you did, it couldn’t possibly be _that_ bad.”

The hauler put on an uneasy grin. “Wellll…” He moved aside to allow another figure to appear from around the corner.

Lightning frowned, squinting as the dark vehicle grew closer and closer. She looked eerily familiar to him. “Hey… isn’t that…?”

“Lightning,” Mack said as the dark grey hauler pulled up in front of them after dropping her trailer off to the side, “this is Gale. You probably already know her as Storm’s hauler.”

The lady in question offered Lightning an uneasy smile, while Lightning watched, not fully processing the situation.

The two semis scooted closer together, their fenders touching. Mack gave another sheepish smile, bracing for his friend’s reaction. “We’re kinda dating…”

Lightning stared blankly for a moment, a frozen smile etched on his face, before promptly doing a double take. “...I’m sorry, _what_?”

“That’s not all…” Gale added, glancing back at her trailer.

The sound of the trailer door thudding to the ground echoed off the Arizona canyons. Another grey form emerged from within the belly of the darkness, slithering his way, slowly but surely closing the distance between them. A black cloud ready to strike the light out of Lightning’s peaceful, sunny afternoon.

“ _This must be a nightmare_ ,” Lightning thought desperately, “ _It_ **_has_ ** _to be.”_

While it might not have been an actual dream, it was certainly a waking nightmare. Jackson Storm glistened before him, in all his haughty glory, treading on the dirt of _his_ sacred home, showing up in front of _his_ friends. The summer heat seemed to warp his old rival into a desert mirage, which would have been the preferable explanation behind Storm’s arrival.

Storm flashed Lightning one of his infamous grins, the sun glinting off his teeth. “Hey, Champ. Looks like we're gonna be roommates.”

Lightning gaped at him in silence, his frozen smile melting into an expression of shock and confusion. “Uhhhh, _what_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the park in this chapter is based on a real-life park near the Charlotte Motor Speedway, called Frank Liske Park (courtesy of Google Maps). And the name of that lake? Jackson Training School Lake. Serendipity.


End file.
